PRIEST 


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Mi'  ; 


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THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Professor 
Richard  K,  Murdoch 


/, 


THE    PRIEST 


A  TALE  OF  MODERNISM 
IN  NEW  ENGLAND 


BY 

THE  AUTHOR  OF  "LETTERS  TO  HIS 
HOLINESS,  POPE  PIUS  X" 

THIRD  EDITION 


THE    BEACON    PRESS 
1918 


First  Impression,  February,  1911 

Second  Impression,   December,   1913 

Third  Impression,  March,  1914 


Copyright,  1911 
SHERMAN,   FRENCH   $•  COMPANY 


.35-=?  7 
.^ 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

Because  a  piece  of  fiction  has  taken  Modernism 
for  its  subject,  it  should  not  be  forthwith  con 
demned  as  a  mere  manifesto  which  usurps  a  prov 
ince  of  art  for  crude  ends  of  partisanship  or  re 
volt.  Modernism  has  every  right  in  the  world  to 
literary  treatment  in  the  forms  of  fiction  or  the 
drama.  For  if  it  is  the  function  of  these  depart 
ments  of  literature  to  set  forth  the  histories  of  hu 
man  hearts  and  the  crises  of  human  conscience,  it 
is  doubtful  if  they  could  find  in  the  aggregate  of 
contemporaneous  experiences  a  richer  field  than 
Modernism.  Modernism  began  with  the  scholar. 
It  is  ending  with  the  martyr.  It  first  appeared 
as  a  movement  of  critical  scholarship  concerned 
with  debates  as  to  the  date  and  authorship  of  cer 
tain  ancient  scriptures,  and  the  validity  of  divers 
venerable  texts  and  institutions.  That  aspect  of 
the  matter  is  now  subsidiary.  To-day  the  most 
vital  interest  of  Modernism  lies  in  the  conflict  — 
the  fierce  and  sombre  conflict  —  which  it  has  flung 
upon  many  choice  spirits  of  the  race;  the  conflict 
between  sincerity  and  enforced  conformity;  be 
tween  ruthless  Truth  and  life's  tenderest  affec 
tions  ;  between  the  mind  that  would  follow  its  new 
light  and  the  heart  that  would  cling  to  its  lifelong 
loyalties.  It  is  a  desolate  struggle,  fought  out  in 
the  presence  of  strange  spectators:  on  the  one 
hand,  loneliness,  ignominy,  penury;  on  the  other, 
honor,  fidelity  and  the  memories  of  those  faithful 


812739 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

ones  who  have  consecrated  the  hallowed  Calvaries 
of  the  world.  Here  surely,  where  life  works  so 
mightily,  literature  may  linger  reverently,  and 
may  make  of  these  gropings,  conflicts,  sufferings, 
a  theme  that  is  worthy  of  her  highest  forms  of  art. 
No  apology,  then,  is  needed  for  the  choice  of 
the  subject  matter  of  this  book.  But  perhaps  con 
cerning  the  execution  of  the  enterprise  the  author 
should  say  a  word  which  he  is  in  doubt  whether  to 
call  an  apology  or  not.  At  all  events,  here  it  is 
in  all  frankness.  The  author's  deepest  feeling  all 
through  the  book  is  for  what  may  be  called,  in  a 
large  sense,  religion  rather  than  art;  for  a  faith 
ful  reproduction  of  a  profound  spiritual  struggle 
rather  than  for  the  technical  perfection  of  the 
narrative  which  describes  it.  He  has  indeed  done 
his  poor  best  in  this  latter  respect  also.  He  has 
tried  not  to  forget  that  he  was  writing  a  story  and 
that  his  conscientious  endeavor  should  be  to  make 
it  as  good  a  story  as  was  in  his  power.  But  hav 
ing  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  very  close  at 
hand  many  of  the  interior  experiences  and  some 
even  of  the  external  events  herein  written  down,  it 
has  been  primary  with  him  to  transcribe  these  ex 
periences  and  events  with  what  vividness  they  pos 
sess  in  his  own  mind,  and  with  what  emotion  they 
evoke  in  his  own  heart. 

Whatever,  then,  his  falling  short  of  the  profes 
sional  fiction-code,  this  he  cannot  help  feeling, 
that  this  book  is,  in  a  vital  way,  true;  that  the 
tragic  processes  on  which  it  lifts  a  corner  of  the 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

veil  are  to-day  going  on  in  hundreds  of  beset  and 
harassed  hearts;  and  that  the  utterance  which 
these  processes  find  here  is  above  all  genuine,  above 
all  sincere.  In  these  primitive  qualities,  too,  there 
may  possibly  be  manifested  a  certain  form  and 
species  of  art  which,  perhaps,  are  somewhat  over 
looked  by  the  rules  of  the  masters  and  the  sched 
ules  of  the  schools.  The  author  has  sometimes 
beguiled  himself  with  thinking  so.  But  however 
that  may  be,  this  is  a  chapter  of  contemporary 
life  that  is  little  known  because  essentially  soli 
tary,  and  a  picture  of  present-day  reality  that 
gives  few  outward  signs  because  it  lies  in  that 
province  of  experience  about  which  men  are  most 
sensitive  and  most  reticent.  To  such  as  are  inter 
ested  in  this  deeper  side  of  life,  in  this  profounder 
region  of  reality,  this  modest  contribution  to  the 
literature  of  a  great  movement  is  respectfully 
offered  by 

THE  AUTHOE. 


I 

A  New  England  winter  lives  long,  as  the  world 
knows,  but  only  those  with  experience  of  it  are 
aware  how  hard  it  dies.  In  rural  New  England 
above  all,  the  last  state  of  the  storm-god's  deviltry 
is  worse  than  the  first.  Just  as  it  is  time  for  him 
decently  to  depart,  say  about  the  first  week  in 
March,  he  shows  the  perversity  of  the  possessed, 
lashing  himself  into  paroxysms  of  tempest;  fling 
ing  up  mighty  snow-ramparts  in  a  night ;  freezing 
tight  every  pond,  lake,  and  stream;  and  from  his 
frozen  fortresses  howling  mad  defiance  to  the  timid 
reconnoitering  of  Spring.  Then  does  rural  New 
England  look  inhospitable  indeed.  The  streets  are 
deserted  save  for  a  traveller  now  and  then  who 
plods  along  with  head  down,  hands  in  pockets,  coat 
collar  buttoned  about  his  mouth,  and  with  a  gen 
eral  air  of  being  about  a  desperately  disagreeable 
business;  the  bare  trees  creak  in  every  stiffened 
joint,  and  clash  icy  branches  together  in  the  for- 
lornest  of  choruses;  the  white  fields  stretch  away 
beyond  the  huddling  houses  which  seem  to  be  shiv 
ering  too;  and  the  dismal  hills  in  the  distance  ap 
pear  ominously  like  posted  sentinels  to  keep  this 
cold  domain  inviolate. 

A  stranger  of  anti- Yankee  prejudices  approach 
ing  a  New  England  hamlet  at  such  a  time  might 
well  find  confirmation  of  his  personal  antipathies 
in  the  wild  aspect  of  the  scene  before  him.  How 

typical  of  Puritan  austerity  these  biting  winds! 

1 


*  THE  PRIEST 

How  suggestive  of  the  harsh  unfriendliness  of  the 
Pilgrim  stock  these  barriers  of  snow!  How  fit  a 
habitation  for  an  unlovely  race  this  forbidding 
country  where  the  coming  of  a  genial  season  is  so 
long  delayed  and  its  reluctant  stay  so  short !  Un 
just  prejudices  these,  as  we  to  whom  New  England 
is  dear,  to  whom  she  is  or  once  was,  home,  are  well 
aware.  We  know  that  her  heart  is  not  wintry  nor 
the  springs  of  her  affection  frozen.  We  know  that 
not  all  the  snow  and  ice  of  the  three  centuries  since 
the  Pilgrims  came,  have  chilled  the  kindlier  feel 
ings  of  those  that  dwell  upon  this  rugged  soil.  An 
exterior  of  low  temperature  their  environment  may 
indeed  have  given  them ;  but  in  no  hearts  that  beat 
live  warmer  sympathies  and  more  ardent  loyalties. 
But  know  this  as  surely,  believe  it  as  strongly  as 
we  will,  plenty  there  are  who  do  not  believe  it ;  who 
judging  the  inner  from  the  outer,  and  too  quick 
to  class  together  the  material  and  the  spiritual, 
regard  the  Yankee,  his  climate,  and  his  soil,  as  a 
trinity  of  inhospitalities,  which  it  behooves  warm 
hearted,  comfort-loving  men  to  let  alone,  and  aban 
don  to  its  fog  and  chill,  its  storms  and  stubble. 

And  so  saying,  we  are  brought  to  the  opening 
of  our  story ;  for  we  are  now  to  become  acquainted 
with  a  man  who,  as  we  take  our  first  look  at  him, 
wears  every  appearance  of  being  in  precisely  this 
state  of  mind.  He  had  got  off  the  evening  train 
at  a  Massachusetts  village,  which  will  figure  in  this 
story  under  the  name  of  Axton,  at  the  time  of 
year  we  have  mentioned,  and  in  the  conditions  of 


THE  PRIEST  3 

weather  we  have  described.  Having  ordered  his 
luggage  sent  to  the  hotel  —  was  he  guilty  of  a  sus 
picion  of  a  smile  as  he  said  that  last  word?  —  he 
stood  on  the  station-platform  and  gazed  down  at 
the  little  town  that  lay  before  him.  A  survey  of 
Axton  need  not  detain  him  long.  He  saw  near-by 
the  public  square,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  a 
snow-robed  pump  with  a  trough  for  horses;  a 
half-dozen  shops;  an  enlarged  cottage  which  he 
had  been  told  was  the  hotel;  and  one  large  build 
ing  distinguished  by  a  tower,  which  he  correctly 
surmised  might  be  the  town-hall.  Three  streets 
led  away  from  the  square,  one  the  main  street  on 
which  were  several  substantial,  and  one  or  two 
elegant,  houses ;  the  other  two,  highways  of  less 
pretensions,  having  houses  of  comfortable  and 
cleanly  aspect,  but  belonging  evidently  to  tenants 
of  more  limited  means.  Beyond  lay  open  country, 
terminating  in  the  foot-hills  of  a  distant  mountain- 
range. 

It  was  none  too  cheerful  a  prospect,  with  the 
early  twilight  rapidly  deepening  into  darkness,  a 
bitter  wind  sweeping  through  the  valley,  and  dim 
lights  from  stores  and  dwellings  falling  upon  glis 
tening  snow  that  lay  deep  about  every  building. 
With  a  shudder  the  stranger  left  the  station  and 
walked  toward  the  hotel.  "  How  unutterably  dis 
mal  !  "  he  said  to  himself ;  "  and  I  fear  the  Yankee 
inhabitants  will  prove  as  churlish  as  their  weather. 
I'll  suffer  another  kind  of  chill  when  they  find  that 
a  priest  has  come  among  them." 


4  THE  PRIEST 

Entering  the  front  door  of  the  hotel  he  found 
himself  alone  in  a  narrow  room  that  served  as  an 
office.  In  the  middle  of  the  floor  a  stove  glowed 
red-hot;  and  he  approached  it,  throwing  open  his 
overcoat  as  he  did  so,  thereby  discovering  the  Ro 
man  collar  worn  by  priests.  While  he  was  beguil 
ing  the  time  with  gazing  rather  wearily  at  the 
cheap  prints  on  the  wall,  a  door  that  led  to  the  in 
terior  of  the  establishment  opened,  and  a  sharp- 
featured  man  of  middle  age  entered,  and  without 
a  word  pushed  the  register  toward  the  guest,  and 
held  out  to  him  a  pen  freshly  dipped  in  muddy 
ink.  The  priest  wrote  in  a  rapid,  nervous  hand: 
"  Reverend  Ambrose  Hanlon." 

"  Are  you  a  priest?  "  were  the  proprietor's  first 
words. 

"Yes." 

"  First  one  I've  ever  had  here.  Goin'  to  stay 
long?  " 

"  So  I  expect.  I  have  been  appointed  pastor  of 
the  Catholics  in  this  town." 

"  Don't  say.  Hadn't  heard  nothin'  about  it. 
Goin'  to  build  a  church?  " 

"  That  is  usually  the  task  of  a  new  parish." 

Guarded  and  even  uncordial  as  the  conversation 
had  been  thus  far,  mine  host,  whose  name  we  may 
as  well  know  at  once  was  the  good  old  Yankee  one 
of  Nahum  Cuttle,  on  receiving  the  information  of 
the  new  church,  broke  out  vehemently  with: 

"  Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  I  hope  you  will  make 
something  of  those  foreigners  that  have  flooded 


THE  PRIEST  5 

this  town  ever  sense  the  car-shops  was  built. 
There's  a  bad  lot  among  'em,  I  tell  you.  Don't 
deny  that  some  of  'em  ain't  all  right;  but  there's 
a  wicked  element  there,  'Talians,  Poles  and  He 
brews,  that's  formed  a  Socialist  club  —  only 
another  name  for  Anarchist  club,  I  think  —  and 
they're  promising  no  end  of  trouble.  They'll  be 
in  your  congregation,  too.  Only  fifteen  or  twenty 
Catholics  here,  till  they  came,  a  year  ago." 

"  At  least  I  shall  not  be  responsible  for  the  He 
brews,"  remarked  the  new  pastor,  trying  to  smile, 
though  his  dejection  had  visibly  deepened  with 
every  word  that  Nahum  uttered.  Then  he  asked: 
"  In  what  way  are  these  foreigners  threatening 
trouble?" 

"  Lots  o'  ways,"  answered  Nahum.  "  Every 
Sunday  they  have  a  meeting,  and  some  scoundrel 
tells  'em,  sometimes  in  English,  but  mostly  in  a 
foreign  language,  that  this  gov'ment's  got  to  be 
destroyed  and  all  the  money  divided  around,  share 
alike.  Then  they  make  speeches  against  religion, 
and  say  all  church-folks  is  fools  and  all  ministers 
hypocrites.  Worst  of  it  is  they're  organizin'  now, 
and  becomin'  citizens  so  they  can  outvote  us  and 
set  up  an  Anarchist  town  right  here  in  Axton, 
where  our  New  England  forefathers  have  lived  in 
peace  and  contentment  for  two  hundred  years.  I 
tell  you,  sir,  bad  times  are  comin'  to  this  place, 
that's  all  I've  got  to  say." 

"  It  is  quite  enough,"  said  Father  Hanlon,  dis 
consolately.  "  At  all  events  I  shall  want  a  room 


6  THE  PRIEST 

for  some  time;  and  if  you  can  get  supper  soon  I 
shall  be  greatly  obliged  to  you." 

While  the  Reverend  Ambrose  Hanlon  is  sitting 
down  to  his  first  meal  within  his  spiritual  juris 
diction,  we  may  as  well  become  better  acquainted 
with  him.  As  a  boy  and  young  man,  Ambrose  dis 
tinguished  himself  by  a  remarkable  proficiency  in 
studies  in  all  the  schools  that  he  attended.  At  the 
public  high  school  he  led  his  classes  during  his  en 
tire  course;  and  by  his  naturally  candid  and  mod 
est  character  was  a  great  favorite  of  both  teach 
ers  and  fellow-pupils.  Entering  a  Jesuit  college 
at  the  age  of  eighteen,  he  again  rose  rapidly  to 
class  leadership  and  became  marked  as  the  most 
brilliant  student  in  the  school.  The  black-robed 
fathers  and  scholastics  who  taught  him,  admired 
him  —  and  coveted  him.  Frederick  the  Great  is 
reported  to  have  said  that  he  did  not  share  in  the 
harsh  feeling  which  the  Jesuits  had  drawn  upon 
themselves  by  their  well-known  endeavors  to  se 
cure  the  best  boys  in  their  colleges  for  the  Order. 
"  Why  blame  them,"  said  Frederick,  "  for  seeking 
the  most  promising  subjects?  Rulers  of  states 
act  likewise  in  drawing  to  the  public  service  the 
best  statesmen  and  financiers  the  kingdom  af 
fords."  If  we  are  content  with  this  royal  logic, 
we  shall  not  censure  too  severely  the  astute  sons  of 
Ignatius  Loyola  for  their  pious  devices  in  allur 
ing  young  Hanlon  to  their  membership.  We  will 
simply  state  the  fact  that  they  did  their  utmost 
to  get  him.  One  of  the  fathers,  especially  skilful 


THE  PRIEST  7 

in  this  divine  diplomacy,  worked  himself  into  the 
boy's  intimacy  and  friendship.  He  learned  that 
the  youth  was  intending  to  enter  the  seminary  and 
become  a  priest  of  the  diocese.  Then  the  siege 
proper  began.  Gradually  and  cautiously  this 
man,  Father  Stockly  by  name,  led  Ambrose  to 
perceive  the  great  glory  of  the  Jesuit  order.  He 
told  him  of  the  Society's  long  list  of  saints,  among 
them  angelic  Aloysius,  spotless  Berchmans,  valiant 
Xavier,  mighty  Ignatius.  He  pictured  to  the 
boy's  devout  imagination,  the  host  of  Jesuit  heroes 
in  the  mission-field,  from  Jogues  and  Breboeuf, 
murdered  by  the  Iroquois,  to  the  Society's  young 
priests  who  are  dying  to-day  in  equatorial  Africa. 
He  laid  particular  stress  upon  the  scholars  of  the 
Company,  Laynez  the  wonder  of  the  Council  of 
Trent,  de  Lugo  the  Aquinas  of  moral  theology, 
and  Suarez  the  peer  of  any  theologian  that  ever 
lived.  He  spoke  of  the  present  great  work  of  the 
Order  in  educating  young  men ;  of  its  mystical 
life  of  prayer  and  penance;  of  its  unimpeachable 
orthodoxy  and  its  almost  military  devotion  to  the 
See  of  Rome ;  of  its  renown  without  and  of  its  peace 
and  power  within.  At  times  he  referred  to  the 
secular  priest's  comparative  inefficiency;  how 
lonely  such  a  man  is ;  and  with  what  miserable  mat 
ters  —  the  collecting  of  money  and  the  building  of 
churches  —  half  his  time  and  energy  are  wasted. 
We  cannot  wonder  that  so  spiritual  and  bril 
liant  a  boy  as  Ambrose  should  be  captivated.  The 
Society  appeared  before  him  transfigured,  glori- 


8  THE  PRIEST 

fied,  the  nursery  of  scholars  and  the  home  of  saints. 
He  fondly  thought  of  himself  as  a  Jesuit  novice, 
clothed  with  the  habit  that  had  been  worn  by  so 
great  a  multitude  of  holy  men.  In  many  an  hour 
of  prayer  he  turned  moist  eyes  to  the  altar,  be 
seeching  his  Lord  for  the  grace  of  some  day  be 
longing  to  the  Order  that  is  called  of  Jesus.  He 
told  Father  Stockly  that  he  wanted  to  become  a 
Jesuit,  and  besought  his  prayers  that  so  heavenly 
a  favor  might  be  vouchsafed  him.  For  months 
he  thus  dreamed  and  prayed  and  hoped,  in  the 
spell  of  an  ambition  that  made  all  else  in  life  in 
significant  and  mean. 

But  there  was  a  difficulty  in  the  way ;  and  it  re 
sulted  in  Ambrose's  not  joining  the  Jesuits.  He 
had  no  near  kindred  living  except  his  mother  and 
sister, —  his  father,  a  veteran  of  the  civil  war,  hav 
ing  died  ten  years  before.  His  mother  was  an 
invalid,  and  while  she  gladly  and  proudly  gave 
her  consent  to  his  becoming  a  secular  priest,  since 
in  such  a  state  of  life  he  could  often  visit  her,  and 
even  have  her  with  him  after  a  while, —  she  would 
be  grievously,  perhaps  fatally,  wounded  by  the 
all  but  perpetual  separation  which  his  going  to  the 
Jesuits  would  involve.  Still,  even  this  supreme 
consideration  hardly  checked  the  boy  from  follow 
ing  out  his  absorbing  desire.  Father  Stockly  once 
gave  him  a  book  on  choosing  one's  vocation,  in 
which  it  was  set  forth  that  even  should  a  mother 
fling  herself  upon  the  threshold  of  her  home  to 
keep  her  son  from  entering  a  religious  order,  he 


THE  PRIEST  9 

should  step  across  her  body  and  go,  obeying  the 
voice  of  God  rather  than  the  appeal  of  parental 
love.  This  narration  moved  Ambrose  profoundly, 
and  he  meditated  making  a  similar  sacrifice.  He 
mentioned  the  matter  to  Father  Stockly,  who  as 
sured  him  that  it  would  be  a  most  acceptable  offer 
ing  to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Christ.  But  fortu 
nately  he  broached  the  project  to  his  sister  Mar 
garet.  Margaret  was  the  younger  by  two  years, 
but  womanhood  was  in  her,  and  she  possessed  in 
consequence  a  sane  outlook  upon  human  relations 
from  which  her  poor,  romancing  brother  was  wo- 
fully  remote.  She  showed,  too,  on  the  occasion  that 
Providence  had  blessed  her  with  woman's  tongue 
as  well  as  with  woman's  intuition.  By  the  time 
she  had  concluded  her  vituperation,  in  the  course 
of  which  she  observed  that  her  brother  was  a  self 
ish  coward  even  to  think  of  deserting  his  home 
forever;  that  he  would  be  the  murderer  of  his 
mother  if  he  did  such  a  thing;  and  that  there  was 
more  unhealthy  rubbish  in  spiritual  books  than 
he  with  all  his  learning  had  ever  suspected,  the 
notion  of  the  "  great  renunciation  "  had  been  effec 
tively  driven  from  Ambrose's  distracted  mind. 
They  kissed  and  made  up  when  the  storm  was 
passed ;  and  Ambrose  promised  his  brave  little  sis 
ter  that  he  would  not  murder  his  mother  for  all  the 
religious  orders  in  the  world. 

But  a  Jesuit  in  spirit  and  desire  he  remained; 
and  although  he  entered  the  ecclesiastical  seminary 
of  the  diocese,  the  Society  was  still  his  ideal,  as 


10  THE  PRIEST 

his  letters  to  Father  Stockly  repeatedly  declared. 
This  seminary  in  which  Ambrose  spent  four  years 
was  noted  as  being  particularly  "  safe."  That  is 
to  say,  it  was  kept  sedulously  guarded  from  mod 
ern  liberalism.  The  Right  Reverend  Sebastian 
Shyrne,  bishop  of  the  diocese,  was  a  man  of  both 
despotic  temperament  and  stringent  orthodoxy. 
From  him  the  seminary  professors  received  their 
orders,  and  these  orders  bore  perpetually  on  his 
lordship's  wish  and  the  professors'  duty  to  fill  the 
minds  of  the  seminarists  with  horror  and  hatred 
for  higher  criticism  and  advanced  Catholicism. 
Once  when  the  young  professor  of  dogmatic  theo 
logy  ventured  to  begin  a  course  of  lectures  on  the 
origins  and  early  history  of  the  sacrament  of  Pen 
ance,  he  was  sharply  rebuked  by  the  bishop,  who 
informed  him  that  theology  must  be  taught  in  the 
good  old  scholastic  method,  and  that  of  historical, 
or,  as  he  called  it,  "  evolutionary  "  theology  there 
must  be  none.  "  Please  remember,"  said  the 
bishop,  in  concluding  his  reprimand,  "  that  the 
master  to  be  followed  in  my  seminary  is  Thomas 
Aquinas,  not  Hermann  Harnack." 

"  Adolf  Harnack,  you  ignorant  booby !  "  said 
the  professor  to  himself  as  he  left  the  episcopal 
presence.  But  the  lectures  on  the  history  of  Pen 
ance  were  discontinued  at  once. 

Thus  it  happened  that  for  four  years  Ambrose 
Hanlon's  mind  was  curtained  from  the  light  of 
modern  thought.  Not  once  in  all  that  time  nor  for 
some  time  after  indeed,  did  he  dream  of  the  vast 


THE  PRIEST  11 

structure  of  theological  erudition  and  critical  re 
search  raised  by  nineteenth  century  scholarship. 
He  lived  and  thought  in  the  past  and  gave  over 
his  fine  intelligence  to  the  subtleties  of  metaphysi 
cal  theologizing.  At  the  commencement  exercises, 
which  concluded  his  second  year  in  theology,  he 
read  a  long  paper  in  Latin  on  the  matutine  and 
vespertine  knowledge  of  the  angels.  The  bishop, 
who  was  presiding  at  the  exercises,  had  taken  a 
rather  disedifying  nap  during  the  reading  of  the 
dissertation;  but  at  the  end  he  congratulated  the 
young  author,  and  advised  him  to  continue 
throughout  life  a  devoted  student  of  St.  Thomas. 
"  The  world  is  running  after  mischievous  novel 
ties,"  said  the  bishop ;  "  and  many  there  are  who 
are  suffering  shipwreck  from  their  biblical  criti 
cism  and  their  so-called  historical  method.  But  do 
you,  Mr.  Hanlon,  and  all  you  gentlemen  of  my 
seminary,  eschew  these  pestilential  pseudo-sciences. 
They  are  based  on  pride  and  conducted  in  impiety. 
Stand  fast  by  your  St.  Thomas,  Suarez  and  de 
Lugo !  Let  Aquinas  be  your  master,  not  Hermann 
Harnack."  This  last  phrase  had  evidently  caught 
the  fancy  of  the  great  man,  and  if  he  continued  to 
misname  the  German  scholar,  few  in  his  audi 
ence  recognized  the  blunder. 

Not  only  did  this  sort  of  training  estrange  Am 
brose  from  modern  life,  but  it  made  him  positively 
hostile  to  it.  To  him  the  world  was  hastening  to 
perdition.  The  Church  was  beset  by  heresy ;  the 
old  supremacy  of  the  Papacy  was  reduced  to  a 


12  THE  PRIEST 

shadow;  and  all-conquering  science  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  infidel.  From  such  a  world  the  boy 
turned  away  in  bitterness  and  sorrow.  He  could 
not  feel  himself  a  citizen  of  it.  If  perforce  he 
lived  in  it,  it  was  only  as  an  alien  and  antagonist. 
The  true  home  of  his  thought  and  affection  was 
the  Middle  Ages  —  the  Ages  of  Faith.  That  epoch 
he  idealized.  He  pictured  it  —  so  lively  were  his 
enthusiasms  and  so  dormant  his  critical  powers  — 
as  his  Catholic  text-books  pictured  it,  that  is  to 
say,  as  a  time  of  unquestioning  faith  and  universal 
piety.  Then  all  Europe  was  like  a  mighty  mon 
astery  with  the  Pope  as  Lord  Abbot,  princes  and 
kings  his  loyal  sub-priors,  and  the  common  people 
as  a  host  of  lay-brothers  spending  their  days  and 
nights  in  penance  and  prayer.  How  Ambrose, 
beguiled  by  this  grotesque  conception,  longed  to 
have  lived  in  those  days !  He  would  have  been  a 
Benedictine  monk  —  so  his  fancy  ran  —  and  would 
have  written  a  tome  or  two  on  the  divine  attributes, 
or  on  the  circumincession  of  the  Trinity!  Alas, 
that  modernism  had  spoiled  the  world ;  that  church 
and  state  were  one  no  longer;  that  the  Inquisition 
could  put  down  heresy  no  more;  and  that  a  false 
cry  of  Liberty  had  driven  from  the  minds  of  men 
the  grand  old  Catholic  ideas  of  obedience  and 
authority ! 

At  the  end  of  the  fourth  year  in  the  seminary, 
Ambrose  was  sent  to  Rome  to  complete  his  course. 
There,  as  was  inevitable,  the  ideas  which  had  grown 
in  upon  him  took  deeper  root,  and  his  severance 


THE  PRIEST  18 

from  modern  scholarship  became  still  more  com 
plete.  His  two  years  in  the  college  of  the  Propa 
ganda  he  devoted  to  Thomistic  theology  and  Canon 
Law ;  and  he  gained  with  high  distinction  the  doc 
torate  in  divinity.  Of  scientific  history  he  knew 
scarcely  anything;  of  biblical  criticism  nothing; 
and  of  such  sciences  as  Sociology  and  Comparative 
Religion  he  had  barely  heard  the  names. 

Three  months  after  his  return  from  Rome  he 
was  sent  to  Axton.  With  what  reluctance  he  en 
tered  upon  his  charge  we  have  seen.  Not  that  he 
was  not  zealous.  No  man  could  be  more  devoted 
to  his  vocation.  But  he  felt  himself  wholly  unfitted 
for  the  practical  business  of  building  up  a  new 
parish.  For  money-collecting  and  all  the  miser 
able  anxieties  connected  with  stone  and  mortar,  he 
had  a  horror.  His  tastes  were  dominantly  intel 
lectual  ;  and  his  long  absorption  in  study  had  fitted 
him  for  the  class-room  rather  than  for  the  rough 
shod  work  that  lay  before  him. 

Such  was  Father  Ambrose  Hanlon  as,  at  the  age 
of  twenty-seven  he  entered  upon  his  pastorate. 
Misgivings  thronged  upon  him  as  he  sat  at  his  first 
meagre  supper  in  Nahum  Cuttle's  hostelry,  and 
he  was  little  disposed  to  check  them.  How  was 
he  to  control  so  untoward  &  situation?  A  congre 
gation  of  Italian  anarchists;  a  community  of  hos 
tile  Puritans;  a  church  to  be  built  and  paid  for; 
sermons  to  be  preached  to  people  incapable  of  ap 
preciating  any  intellectual  appeal;  this  was  the 
lot  in  which  he,  a  delicate,  dreamy  student,  had 


14  THE  PRIEST 

been  placed  by  ill-fortune.  He  thought  of  his  es 
say  on  the  matutine  and  vespertine  knowledge  of 
the  angels,  and  of  his  final  examination  in  Rome 
when  he  brilliantly  demonstrated  that  God  fore 
knows  the  future  free  acts  of  men  not  by  the  ordi 
nary  knowing-processes  of  Deity,  but  by  a  special 
kind  of  divine  cognition  called  "  scientia  media  " ; 
and  a  whimsical  smile  played  for  an  instant  upon 
his  lips  at  the  ineptitude  of  all  this  for  the  work 
before  him. 

"  Well,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  m  nomine  Domini 
let  me  begin  it.  It  is  part  of  a  priest's  sacrifice. 
If  I  cannot  succeed  I  will  at  least  honorably  fail. 
And  now  for  a  night-view  of  my  parish." 

"  Goin'  out  ?  "  asked  Nahum,  as  the  priest  took 
his  overcoat  from  the  rack. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ambrose ;  "  you  have  given  me 
so  freezing  a  report  of  this  parish  of  mine  that  I 
am  going  to  see  if  the  zero  weather  outside  will  not 
warm  my  blood  a  little." 

Nahum  smiled,  not  ill-pleased  to  find  that  his 
guest  was  disposed  to  be  genial. 

"Ever  attend  a  New  England  town-meetin' ? " 
he  asked. 

"  Never,"  said  Ambrose ;  "  I  was  raised  in  the 
city." 

"  Well,"  observed  Nahum,  "  we're  goin'  to  have 
a  town-meetin'  to-night  in  the  town-hall,  and  per 
haps  you  might  find  it  worth  while  to  drop  in. 
Mebbe  there'll  be  some  excitement  and  mebbe  there 
won't.  A  town-meetin'  is  uncertain.  Sometimes 


THE  PRIEST  15 

it's  like  a  Quaker  revival,  and  again  it's  like  a 
convention  of  the  Molly  Maguires.  But  I  rather 
think  you'd  better  go.  Fact  is,  I  advise  you  to 

go-" 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  priest  with  an  amused 
smile,  "  I'll  go.  If  it  turns  out  to  be  a  Quaker  re 
vival  it  will  be  soothing,  and  I  am  tired;  and  if  it 
is  of  the  Molly  Maguire  sort,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see 
so  much  excitement  in  Axton,  where  I  never  ex 
pected  to  find  it." 

So  Father  Hanlon  went  to  the  town  meeting. 
Business  was  already  under  way  as  he  entered 
quite  unobserved  and  took  a  seat  near  the  door. 
The  proceedings  were  dreary  enough.  Should  the 
village  school  be  enlarged?  Should  Main  Street 
be  paved?  Should  the  appropriation  for  the  fire- 
company  be  increased?  These  and  a  half-dozen 
other  similar  questions  were  debated  and  put  to 
vote.  Drowsily  murmuring  Nahum's  expression, 
"  a  Quaker  revival,"  the  priest  settled  himself  com 
fortably  for  a  doze.  He  was  aroused  very  soon, 
however,  by  a  strident  voice  calling,  "  Mr.  Mod 
erator  !  " 

"  Mr.  Wakefield  has  the  floor,"  answered  the 
moderator,  who  was  just  about  to  suggest  that  a 
motion  to  adjourn  would  be  in  order. 

The  man  answering  to  the  name  of  Wakefield 
stepped  from  his  place  to  the  front  of  the  main 
aisle  and  faced  the  assembled  citizens.  He  was  of 
tall,  spare  build,  of  years  approaching  sixty,  and 
in  his  cold  eye  and  sharp  features  one  might  search 


16  THE  PRIEST 

long  for  any  trace  of  the  gentler  qualities  of  hu 
mankind.  Evidently  greatly  agitated,  he  began 
in  a  harsh,  high  voice: 

"  Mr.  Moderator  and  Fellow-Citizens :  Before 
we  adjourn  I  wish  to  bring  up  a  matter  which, 
while  it  is  not  mentioned  in  the  articles  of  the  town- 
meeting  proclamation,  is  nevertheless  of  vital  con 
sequence  to  this  community.  Up  to  little  more 
than  one  year  ago  our  village  of  Axton,  which  we 
all  love,  was  a  place  where  thrived  the  best  tradi 
tions  of  New  England  and  Massachusetts.  We 
had  scarcely  any  foreigners  among  us.  We  lived 
in  simple  tranquillity.  We  worshipped  according 
to  the  faith  of  our  colonial  ancestors.  How  ter 
rible,  how  menacing  is  the  change  that  has  oc 
curred  in  twelve  months !  The  building  of  the  car- 
shops  has  brought  among  us  a  class  of  aliens  with 
whom  we  have  nothing  in  common,  and  to  whom 
the  traditions  of  our  country  and  our  state  are  not 
only  meaningless  but  contemptible.  These  men, 
nothing  short  of  anarchists,  have  now  organized. 
They  are  conspiring  to  gain  possession  of  our  town 
government.  They  are  desecrating  our  Sabbath 
by  revolutionary  meetings  and  blasphemous  ha 
rangues.  In  a  word,  they  are  threatening  to  de 
stroy  all  that  patriotism  and  religion  have  en 
deared  to  us. 

"  And  now  I  hear  that  a  Roman  Catholic  priest 
is  to  come  here  and  build  a  church  of  his  denomina 
tion.  If  this  ill-omened  thing  takes  place,  for- 
eignism  will  be  established  in  the  midst  of  us  for- 


THE  PRIEST  17 

ever.  We  have  already  been  too  negligent;  but 
there  is  still  time  to  save  Axton  from  a  contamina 
tion  that  is  unto  death.  You  men  of  property  and 
social  standing,  men  of  Puritan  blood  and  Pilgrim 
faith,  I  appeal  to  you  not  to  allow  the  walls  of  a 
Roman  temple  to  be  raised  upon  this  village  soil. 
Refuse  to  sell  a  foot  of  ground  to  this  follower  of 
a  foreign  potentate !  The  land  belongs  to  us.  Let 
us  hold  out  against  every  seduction  of  profit  which 
crafty  Rome  may  put  before  us,  until  Rome  is 
baffled  and  her  impertinent  priest  betakes  himself 
off,  defeated  by  our  unanimous  and  uncompromis 
ing  opposition." 

Trembling  and  pale,  the  man  sat  down  amid  a 
stillness  as  of  death.  The  invective  was  so  utterly 
unexpected  and  so  entirely  novel  that  the  audience 
seemed  for  an  instant  too  dazed  either  to  applaud 
or  disapprove  it.  Just  as  the  citizens  were  com 
ing  to  themselves,  as  it  were,  and  the  clapping  of 
hands  began  to  mingle  with  a  few  faint  hisses,  a 
voice  of  marvelous  melody  and  power  rang  through 
the  hall: 

"Mr.  Moderator!" 

"The  Reverend  Mr.  Danforth  has  the  floor," 
announced  the  moderator,  who  had  been  quite  dis 
concerted  by  the  sudden  turn  of  events. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Danforth  strode  forward 
from  a  seat  near  the  rear  of  the  hall,  until  he  stood 
in  the  very  spot  from  which  Mr.  Wakefield  had 
fired  his  shot  at  Rome.  There  he  turned  and  faced 
the  meeting.  A  striking  picture  he  made.  About 


18  THE  PRIEST 

thirty  years  of  age,  six  feet  in  height,  loosely  built, 
with  shoulders  of  extraordinary  breadth,  and  pos 
sessing  a  fine  spiritual  face,  whose  great  dark  eyes 
were  a  very  mirror  of  purity  and  candor,  minister 
Danforth  was,  beyond  question,  a  highly  favored 
child  both  of  nature  and  of  grace. 

"  It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted,"  he  said,  "  that 
Mr.  Wakefield  has  gone  outside  the  proper  busi 
ness  of  this  town-meeting  to  arouse  feelings  which 
are  more  dangerous,  I  am  constrained  to  say,  than 
any  peril  which  we  are  likely  to  encounter  from 
the  car-shops.  It  is  still  more  deplorable  that  he 
has  committed  the  grievous  injustice  of  insinuat 
ing  that  a  certain  branch  of  the  Christian  religion 
is  equally  menacing  with  anarchism  and  revolu 
tion.  That  insinuation  is  intemperate  and  untrue. 
I  take  a  second  rank  to  no  man  here  in  love  of  coun 
try,  and  I,  as  well  as  all  other  men  here,  would  give 
my  life  to  preserve  it  from  any  foreign  or  domes 
tic  peril.  That  there  is  a  peril  in  certain  condi 
tions  around  us  even  here  in  little  Axton  I  clearly 
recognize.  That  furthermore  there  is  a  great 
measure  of  irreconcilableness  between  the  Ameri 
can  spirit  and  the  tenets  of  a  certain  theology,  I 
am  fully  aware.  But  gentlemen,  these  dangers, 
these  obstacles,  will  be  removed  by  education,  and 
by  a  proper  training  in  the  ideas  and  ideals  on 
which  our  republic  is  based.  Arrogance  and  ha 
tred  and  intolerance  will  never  remove  them.  Teach 
those  who  may  be  out  of  harmony  with  our  consti 
tution  and  civilization  what  this  country  means, 


THE  PRIEST  19 

what  its  destiny  is,  and  what  it  has  already  ac 
complished  for  humanity,  and  I  am  confident  that 
every  honest  man,  wherever  his  birthplace  and 
whatever  his  creed,  will  love  our  country  from  his 
heart  and  will  defend  it  as  zealously  as  any  patriot 
that  ever  fought  beneath  the  flag.  There  is  no 
un-Americanism  so  mischievous  as  that  which 
would  despise  the  foreigners,  and  hold  contemptu 
ously  aloof  from  those  who  come  to  us  from  other 
lands.  The  first  dictate  of  patriotism  is  that  we 
should  go  among  these  people,  bear  for  a  while 
with  their  alien  attitude,  and  by  fraternal  and  self- 
sacrificing  service  bring  them  to  see  that  our  coun 
try  is  worthy  of  their  reverence  and  love.  If  this 
nation  shall  ever  die,  if  the  glorious  traditions  and 
holy  hopes  of  our  fathers  shall  ever  be  brought  to 
naught,  it  will  not  be  because  foreigners  have  over 
come  us,  but  because  we  Americans  and  children 
of  Americans,  have  been  stupid,  proud  and  foolish, 
and  unfaithful  to  the  work  passed  on  to  us  by  our 
founders,  of  educating  the  world  in  liberty. 

"  And  as  for  this  Roman  Catholic  chapel,  I  trust 
it  will  be  built  upon  as  good  a  site  as  our  village 
affords.  I  trust  that  we  shall  all  co-operate  with 
our  brethren  of  that  faith  in  erecting  their  house 
of  worship.  But  whatever  anyone  else  may  do,  I 
publicly  declare  that  I  shall  give  every  service  in 
my  power  to  the  Catholic  pastor  in  the  difficult 
work  that  lies  before  him.  I  cannot  forget  that 
two  patriots  of  my  name  and  blood  lay  dead  upon 
the  field  of  Malvern  Hill  side  by  side  with  the 


80  THE  PRIEST 

fallen  heroes  of  a  Catholic  brigade.  And  I  know 
that  to-day,  were  it  necessary,  the  co-religionists 
of  those  that  fell  beside  my  Puritan  kinsmen  on 
that  bloody  slope,  would  as  gladly  go  forth  to  die 
in  the  same  sacred  cause  if  any  danger  threatened 
our  country's  flag.  America  for  Americans !  Yes, 
but  I  greet  as  my  fellow- American  and  my  brother- 
citizen,  every  man  of  good  will  that  dwells  be 
neath  the  Stars  and  Stripes." 

A  tempest  of  cheers  rose  from  the  throats  of  the 
Axton  citizens  as  the  young  minister  took  his  seat. 
A  score  of  hands  reached  out  to  congratulate  him, 
a  hundred  felicitations  were  addressed  to  him,  until 
what  with  applaudings  and  vociferations,  the  old 
town-hall  had  not  shaken  to  such  a  tumult  since  the 
recruiting  days  of  '61.  Then  at  what  we  are  ac 
customed  to  hear  called  the  psychological  moment, 
some  ingenious  body  began  to  let  down  the  stage 
curtain,  which  curtain,  as  it  happened,  was  noth 
ing  less  than  a  huge  American  flag.  Slowly  the 
beautiful  banner  descended,  first  its  stripes  of  red 
and  white,  then  its  star-filled  field  of  blue,  until  in 
all  its  thrilling  loveliness  it  gleamed  and  swayed 
before  the  burghers  of  Axton.  Right  royally  they 
acclaimed  it.  Every  man  was  on  his  feet  as  though 
the  entire  responsibility  of  the  salute  depended 
upon  him  alone.  Finally  out  of  the  clamor  rose 
one  clear  and  mighty  voice: 

"  Oh,  say  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light 
What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twilight's  last 
gleaming?  " 


THE  PRIEST  21 

Beside  itself  with  enthusiasm,  the  whole  assembly 
took  up  the  melody  from  minister  Danforth's  lips, 
and  sang  the  flag-hymn  of  the  republic  in  an 
ecstasy  of  fervor.  Not  till  the  last  refrain  was 
finished : 

"  And  the  Star-Spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave/' 

was  there  the  least  disposition  to  listen  to  a  mo 
tion  to  adjourn ;  and  even  as  the  men  left  the  hall 
after  this  most  extraordinary  town-meeting  in  the 
history  of  Axton,  the  anthem  still  lingered  on  the 
outer  steps  and  in  the  street. 

The  last  man  to  leave  the  hall  was  Ambrose  Han- 
Ion.  With  a  long  and  loving  look  upon  the  em 
blem  of  our  liberties,  he  turned  and  walked  away, 
bearing  in  his  heart  a  new  and  auspicious  courage 
and  content. 


II 

The  next  morning  Father  Hanlon  was  about  to 
set  out  for  Mr.  Danforth's  residence  when  two 
visitors  were  announced.  One  of  them,  the  Rev 
erend  Joseph  Dooran,  Ambrose  knew  slightly,  as 
he  had  been  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  seminary 
while  Ambrose  studied  there.  The  other  was  the 
Reverend  Richard  O'Murtagh,  an  Irish  pastor  of 
the  old  school,  who  had  charge  of  a  parish  ten 
miles  from  Axton.  After  Ambrose  had  thanked 
them  for  the  promptness  of  their  neighborly  call, 
Father  O'Murtagh  opened  the  general  conversa 
tion  with  the  remark: 

"  Well,  me  boy,  ye'll  have  a  hard  row  to  hoe  in 
the  stony  soil  of  Axton." 

"  Yes,"  Ambrose  answered,  "  I  expect  my  share 
of  difficulties.  But  at  all  events  I  think  I  shall  find 
the  non-Catholic  people  more  friendly  than  I  had 
dared  to  hope." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  was  the  old  gentle 
man's  response.  "  These  Puritans  here  have  no 
great  reputation  for  friendliness.  And  as  for  the 
church,  where  would  they  get  any  sympathy  for 
it?  Didn't  their  forefathers  persecute  it?  What 
reason  have  ye  for  thinking  that  the  tribe  has 
changed? " 

"  The  spirit  of  toleration  is  growing,"  remarked 
Ambrose. 

"  No,"    asserted    the    irreconcilable    Irishman, 


THE  PRIEST  23 

"  the  spirit  of  indifferentism  is  growing.  But  that 
means  not  toleration  but  contempt." 

"  Father  O'Murtagh  is  right,"  interposed  the 
Reverend  Joseph  Dooran,  a  very  small  man  of 
quick,  nervous  manner ;  "  Toleration,  properly  un 
derstood,  proceeds  from  high  and  religious  mo 
tives.  But  these  people  have  not  enough  Christian 
dogma  left  to  possess  such  principles.  They  have 
so  completely  lost  religion  that  they  are  too  little 
interested  in  it  even  to  attack  it." 

"  The  opinion  that  you  have  both  expressed," 
said  Ambrose,  "  has  been  my  own  for  practically 
all  my  life;  and  I  dare  say  it  still  retains  a  hold 
upon  my  mind.  But  I  have  reason  to  expect  friend 
liness  from  the  non-Catholics  here  and  I  would  like 
to  credit  them  with  some  little  nobility  of  motive 
in  manifesting  it.  At  all  events  their  motive  is  a 
matter  of  fact  and  observation  rather  than  of 
theory.  Father  O'Murtagh,  have  you  associated 
much  with  the  non-Catholics  of  your  parish?  " 

"  Have  I  what  ?  "  was  O'Murtagh's  contemptu 
ous  question. 

Ambrose  repeated  his  inquiry. 

"  No,"  was  the  gruffly  spoken  answer.  "  I  have 
not  associated  with  them.  We  get  on  better  by 
standing  as  far  apart  socially  as  we  do  religiously. 
From  time  to  time  they  have  asked  me  to  address 
public  meetings ;  once  one  of  the  ministers  invited 
me  to  preach  in  his  church;  at  another  time  the 
school  committee  sent  word  that  they  would  be 
pleased  to  have  me  deliver  the  invocation  at  the 
graduation  exercises ;  and  seven  years  ago  I  was 


24?  THE  PRIEST 

offered  a  place  on  the  board  of  trustees  of  the  pub 
lic  library.  But  I  told  them,  one  and  all,  that  I 
had  no  time  for  any  work  outside  my  own  paro 
chial  duties.  Hanlon,  don't  forget  this,  we  Catho 
lics  must  not  mix  with  outsiders.  That's  all  there 
is  to  it.  We  must  gather  ourselves  together  into 
a  separate  body,  insisting  upon  our  exclusive  pos 
session  of  the  truth  of  God.  To  mingle  too  much 
socially,  and  to  mingle  at  all  religiously,  with 
heretics  is  to  open  the  door  to  liberalism.  We 
must  hold  aloof." 

"  You  cannot  deny,  Hanlon,"  said  Dooran, 
"  that  Father  O'Murtagh  has  expressed  sound 
Catholic  theology.  You  cannot  deny  that  Leo 
XIII  says  practically  as  much  in  his  encyclical  to 
America  the  *  Longinqua  oceani.' ' 

"  I  have  not  attempted  to  deny  it,"  Ambrose  an 
swered  sharply,  vexed,  as  on  two  or  three  previous 
occasions  he  had  been,  by  Dooran's  patronizing 
air  and  his  assumption  of  infallibility ;  "  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  if  the  open-door  policy  is  dan 
gerous  to  Catholicity,  the  closed-door  policy  may 
be  carried  so  far  as  to  be  even  more  dangerous. 
At  least  we  ought  to  make  it  clear  that  our  exclu- 
siveness  is  only  doctrinal.  In  all  things  pertain 
ing  to  patriotism  and  the  common  good  we  ought 
not  to  lay  ourselves  open  to  the  charge  of  having 
less  good  will  than  other  Americans." 

"  Patriotism  is  all  right  in  its  place,"  O'Murtagh 
replied.  "  There  is  no  fear  for  our  patriotism ; 
we  have  proved  it  often  enough.  But  neither  pa- 


THE  PRIEST  25 

triotism  nor  any  other  secular  matter  should  touch 
upon  the  Catholic  religion,  which  is  not  of  this 
world  and  must  not  be  contaminated  with  the  things 
of  this  world.  Last  year  a  Catholic  Grand  Army 
man  died  in  my  parish.  The  body  was  brought 
into  the  church,  and  I  went  out  upon  the  altar  to 
say  the  requiem  mass.  As  I  stepped  into  the  sanc 
tuary,  what  should  I  see  but  an  American  flag 
resting  upon  the  coffin.  '  Take  that  flag  out  of  the 
church ! '  said  I  to  the  sexton.  And  he  took  it  out. 
Right  enough  in  its  place,  it  was  a  secular  intru 
sion  in  the  house  of  God.  The  town  fell  into  a  fit 
about  it,  but  small  concern  their  indignation  was 
to  me." 

Ambrose  Hanlon,  as  we  have  said,  was  the  son 
of  a  Union  soldier.  No  lesson  of  his  life  had  been 
more  vigorously  drilled  into  him  than  the  lesson 
of  patriotism  from  the  lips  of  his  veteran  father. 
The  lesson  had  been  forgotten,  one  would  be  tempt 
ed  to  suppose,  in  those  fond  dreams  of  an  impres 
sionable  youth  while  under  the  spell  of  a  theology 
which  finds  itself  ill  at  ease  with  the  present  and  /\ 
loves  to  linger  about  the  grave-stones  of  the  past. 
But  theologies  are  always  academic  and  artificial; 
patriotism  is  an  elemental  impulse  of  the  blood. 
It  was  no  decadent  dreamer,  but  the  son  of  a  soldier 
that  stood  with  flashing  eyes  before  the  Reverend 
Richard  O'Murtagh. 

"  Did  you  do  that  thing?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"Did  I  do  that  thing?"  repeated  O'Murtagh, 
whose  long  years  of  domineering  authority  over 


26  THE  PRIEST 

the  simple  people  of  a  country  parish  had  not  pre 
pared  him  to  bear  contradiction  gracefully. 
"  Didn't  ye  hear  me  say  I  did  it?  What  is  the 
matter  with  ye?  " 

"  Father  O'Murtagh,"  said  the  young  pastor  of 
Axton  in  a  quieter  tone,  "  I  must  say  that  I  regret 
your  action.  To  me  my  country's  flag  is  more 
than  merely  secular.  It  is  sacred.  It  is  the  em 
blem  of  a  hope  and  an  ideal  which  are  meant  by 
God  to  be  for  a  benediction  to  humanity.  I  be 
lieve  in  a  truly  divine  purpose  for  our  country; 
and  the  flag  as  the  emblem  of  that  purpose  pos 
sesses  a  species  of  sanctity  which  makes  it  not  only 
not  out  of  place  in  the  house  of  God,  but  most  fit 
tingly  at  home  there." 

"  This  is  simply  wild  enthusiasm,  Hanlon,"  said 
Dooran  in  his  loftiest  air.  "  It  is  absurdity  to  say 
that  religion  and  patriotism  are  in  any  sense  iden 
tical." 

"  Rank  liberalism !  "  growled  the  Irishman,  ris 
ing.  "  I  want  to  be  your  friend,  Hanlon,"  he  con 
tinued,  taking  his  hat ;  "  and  as  a  friend  and  an 
older  man  let  me  give  you  a  warning.  Evil  days 
have  come  upon  Catholicity.  Liberalism  has  crept 
into  her  sanctuary  and  has  poisoned  the  minds  of 
hundreds  of  her  priests.  No  such  woe  has  ever 
before  fallen  upon  holy  mother  Church.  Her  con 
secrated  priests  are  unfilial  to  her  and  estranged 
from  her.  They  are  abandoning  that  grand  old 
intolerant  integrity  of  faith  which  has  kept  Catho 
licity  vigorous,  and  are  flocking  after  the  bias- 


THE  PRIEST  27 

phemies  of  higher  criticism,  modern  broad-minded 
ness  and  other  abominations  of  latter-day  infidel 
ity.  Beware  of  them,  for  the  sake  of  your  priest 
hood  and  your  faith.  And  as  for  that  action  of 
mine  which  you  have  so  eloquently  condemned,  let 
me  tell  you  that  it  was  most  cordially  approved 
by  Bishop  Shyrne,  who,  thank  God,  has  kept  the 
faith." 

This  speech  concluded,  Father  O'Murtagh,  with 
a  cold  invitation  to  Ambrose  to  pay  him  a  visit, 
took  his  departure.  With  him  went  the  diminu 
tive  Dooran  holding  his  head  as  high  in  the  air 
as  it  was  possible  for  one  of  his  stature  to  do. 

It  had  not  been  a  pleasant  interview,  and  when 
Father  Hanlon  was  alone,  he  walked  the  room  in 
no  little  agitation.  To  be  called  a  liberal !  he,  the 
most  rigid  of  conservatives !  As  though  he  did  not 
detest  broad  views  and  higher  criticism  as  thor 
oughly  as  O'Murtagh  and  Dooran  possibly  could. 
But  these  men  would  drive  Catholicity  into  a  cor 
ner,  shut  the  church  up  as  a  cloister,  and  let  the 
rest  of  mankind  pitch  headlong  to  destruction. 
They  had-  lost, —  so  ran  his  thought, —  the  essen 
tial  apostolic  ambition  which  is  not  merely  to  hold 
what  we  now  have,  but  to  go  out  and  conquer  that 
portion  of  the  world  which  is  not  yet  ours. 

True  it  is  an  abandoned  age,  hostile  to  Catho 
licity  and  dominated  by  sinful  license  in  thinking; 
and  revering  as  its  masters  unbelieving  critics  and 
godless  scientists.  But  the  Church  must  win  the 
world  again.  She  must  send  out  into  it  apostles 


28  THE  PRIEST 

and  scholars  to  convince  it  of  her  imperishable 
truth.  To  stand  aloof  and  make  taunting  faces 
at  the  blind  multitudes  as  they  rush  to  perdition, 
is  worse  than  folly ;  it  is  a  sin  against  the  priest's 
primary  duty  of  zeal.  Yes,  this  work  of  re-con 
verting  modern  men  was  the  Church's,  was  his  own 
vocation.  And  how  thrilling  a  one!  Dropping 
into  a  chair  he  gave  himself  up  to  his  cherished 
dream  of  becoming  a  great  scholar;  of  vindicating 
Catholicity  before  the  world;  of  confuting  the 
errors  of  the  age;  of  pointing  out  to  the  men  of 
our  time  their  duty  of  returning  to  that  invincible 
Catholic  truth  which  in  madness  their  fathers  had 
deserted.  He  would  study.  He  would  write. 
Here  in  little  Axton  he  would  begin  to  lay  the  foun 
dation  of  a  larger  life-apostolate  whose  word  would 
go  forth  beyond  the  limits  of  this  village,  to  the 
state,  to  the  nation,  summoning  back  wayfaring 
souls  to  the  old,  the  beautiful,  the  divine  and  in 
fallible  Mother  Church  — "  Mater  Ecclesia." 

Into  these  high  meditations  Nahum  Cuttle's 
voice  broke  harshly,  announcing  that  a  visitor 
awaited  the  priest  in  the  parlor.  Unwillingly 
Father  Hanlon  went  down  stairs  to  be  greeted  by 
a  man  of  about  fifty,  clad  in  the  dress  of  a  laborer. 
The  new-comer  was  of  tall,  sinewy  frame,  with  a 
merry  face,  the  brightest  of  blue  eyes,  and  fea 
tures  on  which  Hibernian  nativity  was  as  unmis 
takably  stamped  as  shrewdness  and  mother-wit. 

'*  Good  mornin',  yer  Reverence,"  began  the  Celt. 
"  Me  name  is  Matt.  Kiley,  and  ye're  to  be  our  pas- 
thor,  I  believe." 


THE  PRIEST  89 

"  Good  morning,  Matt.,"  returned  the  priest  with 
great  heartiness,  for  the  sunshine  in  that  honest 
face  fell  comfortingly  on  his  heart.  "  Yes,  I  am  to 
be  your  pastor,  and  my  name  is  Father  Hanlon." 

"  Well,  Father,  it's  glad  I  am  to  see  ye,  and 
again  it's  not  glad  I  am,"  said  Matt.,  taking  a 
seat  in  obedience  to  a  gesture  from  his  pastor. 
"  Ye're  a  young  man,  Father,  and  perhaps  an  older 
and  tougher  one  would  be  in  less  danger  of  havin* 
his  heart  broke  in  Axton." 

"  Now  Matt,  don't  begin  with  discouraging  me," 
protested  the  priest.  "  What  is  the  matter  with 
Axton?  " 

"  Well,  yer  Reverence,"  answered  Matt,  medita 
tively,  evidently  impressed  with  his  high  privilege 
of  giving  advice  to  a  man  of  learning ;  "  ye're  the 
shepherd  of  the  flock,  and  it's  sore  and  sorry  a 
shepherd  is  whin  he  goes  back  home  at  night  fol 
lowed  by  only  a  sheep  or  two.  It's  sore  and  sorry 
he  is  whin  he  has  to  tell  the  Master  that  the  other 
ninety-nine  have  run  off  gallivantin'  and  won't  lis 
ten  to  the  call  home." 

Father  Hanlon,  smiling  faintly  at  Matt.'s  ma 
nipulation  of  the  parable,  said : 

"  Well,  there  is  some  consolation  in  bringing  in 
even  one.  But  what  is  the  trouble  here?  I  am 
dying  for  a  word  of  encouragement.  Nothing  but 
lamentation  have  I  heard  since  I  set  foot  in  the 
town.  One  would  think  these  Axton  people  were 
heathens." 

"  Those  of  them  that  are  heathens,  Father,"  re- 


30  THE  PRIEST 

sponded  Matt.,  "  should  be  our  own.  That's  the 
word,  heathens!  There's  no  other  name  for  that 
wild  gang  at  the  shops,  and  most  of  them  come 
from  countries  where  they're  supposed  to  be  all 
Catholics.  How  d'ye  account  for  it,  Father  Han- 
Ion,  at  all?  Why,  such  wild,  ragin'  hate  against 
God  and  man  ye  never  saw;  and  nearly  every  one 
of  the  divvies  is  a  baptized  child  of  the  Church." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  account  for  it,"  answered 
Father  Hanlon  wearily. 

"  They'll  break  yer  heart,  Father,  I'm  afraid," 
said  Matt,  looking  tenderly  at  the  frail  boy-priest. 
"  If  ye  were  one  of  the  sledge-hammer  kind  I 
wouldn't  mind;  but  begorra,  I  think  yer  heart  is 
twice  the  size  o'  yer  fist." 

"  I  hope  so,"  observed  Ambrose ;  "  I  have  no  vo 
cation  to  be  a  pugilist.  But  go  on  with  more  news 
about  this  parish  of  mine." 

"  Well,"  resumed  Matt.,  putting  on  his  amusing 
air  of  importance  again ;  "  here's  how  I  figure  it 
out.  Ye'll  have  about  twenty-five  families  scat 
tered  about  here  that  will  stand  by  ye.  After  all, 
that's  not  a  bad  start.  Then  there's  the  gang  o' 
furriners,  a  couple  o'  hundred  o'  thim.  Maybe  ten 
out  o'  the  whole  pack  will  do  anything  for  you.  As 
for  the  rest  all  ye  can  pray  for  is  that  they  will 
let  ye  alone." 

"  And  the  non-Catholics,  what  of  them?  "  asked 
the  priest. 

"  They're  all  right,  yer  Reverence,"  was  Matt.'s 
prompt  and  positive  answer.  "  Barrin'  one  or  two 


THE  PRIEST  SI 

like  Squire  Wakefield  —  the  curse  o'  the  crows  on 
him!  —  they'll  be  the  dacintest  neighbors  ye  ever 
saw  in  all  yer  thravels.  Some  o'  thim,  Father,  are 
jools,  shinin'  jools.  Mr.  Danford,  the  minister, 
upon  my  word,  is  a  king,  so  he  is.  There  he  is  with 
his  rich  people  and  his  fine  church  and  his  eddica- 
tion  —  I  was  in  his  libry  once  and  the  power  o' 
books  mos'  blinded  me  —  and  what  is  he  doin'  ? 
workin'  fer  the  bloody  anarchis'  furriners,  no  less. 
And  as  fer  Dorothy  Wakefield,  th'  ould  Squire's 
niece,  if  she's  not  an  angel  in  human  form !  She's 
wondherful.  She's  almost  the  breath  of  life  to  my 
poor  darlin'  little  girl." 

Here  Matt,  ceased  speaking,  and  fumbled  in 
his  pocket  for  a  handkerchief  with  which  he  wiped 
two  great  tears  from  his  eyes  —  tears  unmistakably 
of  sorrow. 

"  Tell  me  about  your  little  girl,"  interposed 
Father  Hanlon,  "  is  she  sick?  " 

The  bright  face  and  merry  eyes  were  clouded 
as  Matt,  answered: 

"  Father  dear,  she  was  the  light  of  day  to  my 
eyes,  my  poor  little  Mary.  She  went  through  the 
high  school  in  one  class  with  Dorothy.  The  two 
o'  thim  were  like  sisters  and  were  the  brightest 
scholars  in  the  class.  But  no  one  was  the  aqual 
of  my  Mary  fer  handsomeness.  It  isn't  me  that 
should  talk  like  this,  bein'  her  father ;  but  ask  any 
one  in  this  town  about  Mary  Kiley,  and  they  will 
tell  you  that  not  in  the  mim'ry  of  livin'  man  was 
there  a  girl  in  Axton  half  so  beautiful.  But  if 


38  THE  PRIEST 

she  was  beautiful,  Father,  she  didn't  know  it.  She 
was  too  humble  to  know  it.  She  kept  house  fer  me 
after  her  mother  died ;  and  read  books  and  papers 
fer  me;  and  sang  from  one  room  to  the  other  of 
our  little  cottage  like  an  Irish  lark.  It  was  heaven 
fer  me  to  look  at  her.  I  could  hardly  believe  that 
this  pure  angel  was  my  own  child.  Then  came  sore 
misfortune.  One  day  in  winter  the  poor  child  fell 
on  the  ice  —  two  years  ago  it  was  —  and  ever  since 
she  has  been  paralyzed.  All  day  long  I  look  at 
her  lyin'  on  her  cot  and  my  heart  breaks.  She  is 
beautifuler  than  ever.  And,  Father,  listen!  She 
has  become  a  saint.  She  lives  with  God.  I  do  be 
afraid  to  touch  her,  she  is  so  holy.  The  light  of 
heaven  is  on  her  face.  You  will  soon  see  her  and 
will  understand  these  things  better  than  I  do.  And 
you  will  find,  Father  Hanlon,  with  all  respect  to 
others,  that  little  Mary  Kiley  is  the  whitest  lily 
that  will  be  cared  for  by  your  hands." 

"  I  hope  my  hands  may  be  worthy,"  murmured 
the  priest.  Then  rising  he  laid  his  hands  on  Matt.'s 
head  and  said: 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  have  given  me  the  word 
of  encouragement  that  my  heart  was  craving.  I 
have  no  fear  of  failure  now.  When  a  priest  is  as 
sisted  by  the  prayers  and  sacrifices  of  a  saint,  he 
cannot  fail.  Your  dear  child  will  avail  for  me  be 
fore  God,  and  will  gain  by  her  hidden  life  of  holi 
ness  a  multitude  of  graces  for  our  poor  little  par 
ish.  It  is  through  such  as  she  that  God's  greatest 
work  is  done." 


THE  PRIEST  33 

Before  Matt,  took  his  leave  the  conversation 
took  a  practical  turn  again,  the  burden  of  which 
was  that  Father  Hanlon  would  need  a  sexton,  and 
that  according  to  all  appearances,  Matt,  was  ad 
mirably  fitted  for  the  position,  to  which  he  was 
forthwith  appointed.  Gratitude  was  deep  in  both 
their  hearts  as  they  said  good-by,  Matt.'s  for  an 
earthly  favor,  the  priest's  for  what  he  deemed  a 
heavenly  one. 


Ill 

New  England's  thin  soil  has  produced  hardy  if 
not  copious  harvests,  none  more  hardy  than  its 
Puritan  prejudices  and  prepossessions.  For  some 
of  which  prejudices  and  prepossessions  this 
American  nation  can  never  be  sufficiently  thankful. 
As  to  some  others,  we  must  say  of  them  that  they 
were  too  narrow  for  an  ampler  stage  of  history, 
and  as  incapable  of  guiding  the  complex  society 
of  a  great  republic,  as  was  Puritan  theology  of 
controlling  for  all  time  the  developments  of  re 
ligion.  But  they  die  hard,  these  tenacious  New 
England  ideas;  for  the  reason  that  they  die,  as  a 
rule,  not  by  assimilation,  but  by  demolition. 
They  sprang  up  in  minds  accustomed  to  a  the 
ology  if  infallible  and  predestined  certainty,  and 
prone  to  bring  beneath  the  iron  sway  of  that  cer 
tainty  even  matters  so  extra-theological  as  social 
theories  and  political  principles.  This  was  natu 
ral  after  all.  For,  given  a  fixed  dogmatic  theology, 
and  it  is  but  a  step  to  a  dogmatic  history,  a  dog 
matic  philosophy,  a  dogmatic  sociology,  these  lat 
ter  partaking  of  the  desperate  positiveness  of  the 
first.  And  once  the  dogmatic  habit  of  mind  is 
formed,  the  watch-word  and  battle-cry  is :  "  No 
surrender !  "  The  thorough-going,  consistent  dog 
matist  is  not  a  man  to  be  convinced  by  reasoning 
or  persuaded  by  the  quieter  argument  of  historic 
progress.  He  must  in  his  day  and  hour,  be 
crushed  flat  by  the  iron  heel  of  history  lest  he  for- 

34 


THE  PRIEST  35 

ever  obstruct  the  march  of  wayfaring  mankind, 
in  whose  blood  are  discontent  for  certainties  and 
boundaries,  and  a  fever  for  the  adventure  of  the 
untried  and  the  new. 

One  of  the  prejudices  thus  held  defiantly  and 
with  semi-Calvinistic  rigor  in  many  Puritanically- 
tempered  minds  was  this,  that  the  United  States 
was  predestined  to  be  the  nurturing-ground  only 
of  such  sons  of  men  as  were  born  upon  its  soil; 
that  no  foreigners  should  be  admitted  into  the 
pale,  save  those  whom  our  strict  domestic  necessi 
ties  would  allow  to  dribble  through  our  fast-locked 
gates ;  and  that  if  our  country  had  in  any  sense 
a  world-mission  it  was  to  be  achieved  by  displaying 
our  liberties  to  the  gaze  of  the  older  nations  which 
might  look  on  only  from  the  safe  distance  of  three 
thousand  miles.  But  that  we  should  admit  aliens 
upon  our  stage  in  tens  of  thousands,  hundreds  of 
thousands,  and  finally  millions,  teach  them  the 
proper  accent  and  gesture  of  American  freedom, 
and  in  a  trice  entrust  them  with  important  parts 
in  the  vast  drama  of  the  free  and  sovereign  United 
States  — "  Never,"  said  the  man  of  dogmatic 
political  economy ;  "  Never,"  he  kept  on  saying, 
while  the  fact  thus  authoritatively  negatived  was 
assuming  ever  greater  proportions ;  "  Never," 
some  one  or  other  of  his  class  will  continue  to  re 
peat  until  dogmatics  of  every  sort  are  dead. 

This  inheritance  of  consecrated  mental  inflexi 
bility  was  the  most  notable  possession  of  Amos 
Wakefield,  the  only  man  in  Axton  honored  with 


36  THE  PRIEST 

the  title  of  Squire.  Not  bothering  his  head  with 
theology  to  any  serious  extent,  he  poured  the 
whole  contents  of  his  dogmatism  into  the  narrow 
channel  of  his  intransigeant  ideas  of  politics  and 
the  social  order.  This  made  the  current  of  his 
prejudices  too  swift  to  be  checked  or  diverted  by 
quiet  argument  or  by  the  stern  actuality  of  history 
taking  place  before  his  eyes.  "  No  admission  of 
foreigners  into  the  political  privileges  of  this 
country !  "  was  his  creed  —  a  creed  which  he  held 
with  boundless  faith,  but  with  little  hope  and  less 
charity.  America,  in  his  view,  was  to  show  forth 
to  less  favored  nations  the  sight,  but  withhold 
from  them  the  taste  of  liberty,  as  one  might  im 
press  upon  the  mind  of  a  hungry  youngster  how 
goodly  a  thing  a  ripe  apple  is  by  holding  it  before 
him,  expatiating  upon  its  fragrance,  taste,  and 
juiciness,  but  forbidding  him  to  grasp  it  with  his 
own  hands,  and  thrust  it  between  his  teeth.  In 
thus  thinking,  Mr.  Wakefield  never  doubted  that 
he  was  in  perfect  harmony  with  Divine  Provi 
dence  and  the  Creator's  will.  What  cared  he  then 
for  the  specious  arguments  or  the  vain  enthusi 
asms  of  miserable  men  who  had  lost  or  never 
known  the  ancient  spirit  of  the  Puritans?  Nay 
more,  what  cared  he  for  the  criminal  policy  of  his 
country  in  calling  across  the  Atlantic  to  the  brain 
and  brawn  of  Europe,  and  in  bestowing  citizenship 
upon  them  when  they  came?  This  indeed  affected 
his  feelings  and  his  temper ;  but  change  in  his  prin 
ciples  and  antipathies  it  made  none.  If  the  vile 


THE  PRIEST  37 

offscourings  of  other  nations  were  admitted,  let 
them  stew  in  their  own  abominations.  Teach 
them?  mingle  with  them?  attempt  to  make  good 
Americans  of  them  ?  "  Rubbish !  "  snapped  Mr. 
Wakefield.  "  Can  you  make  a  balloon  out  of  a 
bubble?  An  equal  miracle  it  were  to  put  old-time 
Americanism  into  Irish,  Italians  and  Poles !  " 

In  support  of  his  principles,  it  must  be  con 
fessed,  he  had  not  far  to  go  for  argument.  For 
among  the  foreign  workingmen  who  had  swarmed 
into  Axton  when  the  building  of  the  car-shops 
startled  that  dear  old  village  out  of  two  and  a  half 
centuries  of  tranquillity,  there  were  several  of  vile 
character,  and  many  more  of  absolutely  murder 
ous  ideas  as  to  the  nature  of  social  order  and  civil 
authority.  Of  this  evil  and  dangerous  minority  — 
for  the  greater  part  of  the  new  population  were 
simple,  thrifty,  and  law-abiding  —  one  Murdock, 
a  downright  anarchist,  had  made  himself  the 
leader.  Murdock  was  not  without  education,  was 
a  clever  demagogue,  and  skilful  proselyter.  For 
several  months  previous  to  the  opening  of  our 
story  he  had  been  holding  workingmen's  meetings 
on  Sunday,  at  which  violent  harangues  were  made, 
as  host  Cuttle  had  informed  his  clerical  guest, 
against  the  iniquity  of  property,  and  now  and 
then  against  the  folly  and  tyranny  of  even  more 
sacred  institutions.  Not  all  these  mob-orations, 
however,  were  of  Murdock's  delivering.  He  had 
as  fellow-propagandists,  two  or  three  foreigners 
as  glib  of  tongue  and  revolutionary  of  principle 


38  THE  PRIEST 

as  himself,  who  addressed  their  countrymen  in 
their  own  idiom,  and,  under  Murdock's  direction, 
had  so  great  a  success  with  them  as  to  give  the  old 
inhabitants  of  Axton  plainly  to  understand  that 
a  real  peril  smouldered  in  the  village  which  might 
at  any  moment  blaze  forth  into  actual  disaster. 

While  Squire  Wakefield  raged  and  devised  vain 
things  against  this  condition  of  affairs,  the  Rev 
erend  Josiah  Danforth,  minister  of  the  Axton 
Unitarian  Society,  set  himself  vigorously  to  work 
to  overcome  the  evil.  A  few  weeks  before  his 
speech  at  the  town-meeting  in  opposition  to  Mr. 
Wakefield,  he  had  established  a  settlement-house 
among  the  foreigners,  in  which  evening  classes 
were  held  and  opportunities  for  innocent  recrea 
tion  were  afforded  free  of  expense  to  all  who 
might  care  to  make  use  of  them.  Mr.  Danforth 
moreover,  exerted  himself  to  gain  the  confidence 
of  these  people  by  interesting  himself  in  their 
troubles  and  ambitions ;  by  interceding  for  them 
on  occasion  with  the  superintendent  of  the  shops ; 
in  a  word,  by  lending  himself  to  all  that  disinter 
ested  and  earnest  zeal  could  suggest  in  their  be 
half.  Finally  he  took  a  step  over  which  he  hesi 
tated  long  and  at  last  ventured  on  with  some  mis 
giving.  Seeing  his  foreign  friends  destitute  of  all 
religious  ministrations,  by  reason  of  which  desti 
tution  as  he  thought,  Murdock's  Sunday  meetings 
were  so  well  attended,  he  had  abandoned  the  Sun 
day  evening  service  in  his  own  church,  and  gave 
his  Sabbath  night  to  public  worship  in  his  own 


THE  PRIEST  39 

settlement-house.  It  was  the  simplest  of  services. 
Prayer,  New  Testament  reading,  and  a  brief  ad 
dress  on  right  living  —  the  whole  not  going  beyond 
a  half  hour  —  and  that  was  all. 

Mr.  Danforth's  scruple  in  undertaking  this  ven 
ture  arose  from  his  inborn  horror  and  hatred 
of  proselytism.  He  knew  that  his  settlement- 
house  congregation  were  as  far  removed  from  Uni- 
tarianism  as  they  could  possibly  be;  and  he 
dreaded  lest  he  be  thought  a  wily  subverter  of 
their  traditional  faith.  Repeatedly  he  told  them 
that  he  cared  nothing  what  their  belief  was,  so 
that  it  was  honest  belief;  urged  them  to  remain 
faithful  to  the  church  they  thought  best ;  and  did 
his  utmost  to  drive  into  their  heads  the  notion, 
hitherto  utterly  incomprehensible  to  them,  that  men 
could  be  fraternally  united  in  spiritual  aspiration 
while  hopelessly  separated  in  systems  of  theology. 
Whether  they  grasped  this  distinction  or  not,  they 
understood  that  Danforth  was  their  true  and  self- 
sacrificing  friend.  Soon  their  shyness  and  sus 
picion  gave  way,  and  they  approached  him  with 
considerable  cordiality.  His  classes  were  well  at 
tended,  and  his  religious  meetings  brought  enough 
together  to  satisfy  his  mind  that  they  were  worth 
continuing. 

But  all  this  only  added  fuel  to  the  fire  of  Squire 
Wakefield's  prejudices,  the  last  thing  in  the  world 
that  the  fire  aforesaid  stood  in  need  of.  The  idea 
of  his  own  pastor  going  over  to  the  foreign  in 
vader  —  why,  it  was  treason !  "  Treason,  Sir," 


40  THE  PRIEST 

cried  Mr.  Wakefield  to  each  male  member  of  the 
Axton  congregation.  "  It  is  the  desertion  of  Je 
hovah's  altar  by  Jehovah's  consecrated  prophet 
for  the  foul  idolatries  of  the  Canaanites.  It  is 
apostasy  from  the  pure  faith  of  our  Puritan 
fathers." 

These  were  Mr.  Wakefield's  expressions  in  the 
beginning  of  Mr.  Danforth's  apostolate.  But 
when  the  minister  informed  his  congregation  that 
he  felt  called  in  conscience  to  hold  Sunday  night 
services  for  the  foreigners,  thereby  of  necessity 
abandoning  evening  worship  in  his  own  church, 
Mr.  Wakefield's  wrath  was  too  sublime  for  words. 
The  first  shock  over,  he  called  upon  the  trustees 
of  the  church  to  inquire  if  they  did  not  think  the 
time  had  come  to  discharge  their  unfaithful  ser 
vant.  Some  of  them  sympathized  with  the 
Squire's  opposition  to  this  late  project  of  their 
pastor,  but  were  reluctant  to  proceed  to  radical 
measures.  Mr.  Danforth,  with  all  his  foolish  en 
thusiasms,  they  said,  was  too  valuable  a  man  to 
lose.  His  sermons  breathed  the  finest  spirit  of 
the  Gospel,  and  his  spotless  life  was  still  more  elo 
quent  than  the  utterances  of  his  lips.  Let  him 
be  warned,  they  suggested,  but  not  deposed.  Two 
or  three,  however,  of  the  trustees,  vigorously  up 
held  the  minister,  protesting  that  he  was  doing  a 
sacred  duty  too  long  neglected,  in  seeking  souls 
that  had  no  shepherd ;  and  flatly  declared  that  they 
would  oppose  any  action  that  would  imply  cen 
sure  of  so  noble  and  zealous  a  man. 


THE  PRIEST  41 

So  the  matter  was  dropped  for  the  time  being. 
But  Mr.  Wakefield's  determination  to  get  rid  of 
the  minister  was  not  to  be  shaken.  He  seized 
every  opportunity  of  undermining  his  popularity; 
he  could  listen  in  patience  to  no  good  reports  of 
him;  he  watched  his  every  step  if  haply  he  might 
discover  some  imprudence  or  neglect  of  duty.  The 
Squire  had  declared  war,  and  his  method  of  wag 
ing  war  was  not  Saul's  whose  slender  mercy  spared 
Agag,  but  Samuel's,  who  hacked  that  last  wretched 
survivor  to  pieces  "  before  the  Lord  in  Gilgal." 

Two  incidents  occurred  in  Wakefield's  house 
hold  which  were  not  of  a  character  to  mitigate  his 
fury.  The  first  of  these  was  that  his  son  and  only 
child,  Richard  Wakefield,  a  young  man  of  twenty- 
three,  had  left  home  after  interminable  disagree 
ment  with  his  father,  and  had  gone  to  work  at  the 
new  shops,  where,  so  rumor  had  it,  he  had  become 
not  only  intimate  with  several  of  the  leaders  of 
the  workingmen,  but  a  friend  and  supporter  of 
Murdock.  Although  this  latter  point  was  not  a 
certainty  in  the  public  mind,  the  mere  fact  of  its 
being  spoken  of  as  a  probability  drove  the  Squire 
to  an  act  of  characteristic  asperity.  He  tore  up 
his  will  which  bequeathed  all  his  property  to  his 
son,  and  wrote  another  in  which  young  Richard 
was  totally  disinherited. 

The  other  matter  was  concerned  with  Dorothy 
Wakefield,  the  Squire's  niece,  who  had  lived  with 
him  since  the  death  of  her  father,  two  years  before. 
Dorothy  was  twenty-one,  possessed  a  comfortable 


42  THE  PRIEST 

income  from  her  father's  estate,  and  was  conse 
quently  in  no  way  beholden  to  her  uncle.  Still  she 
consulted  him  dutifully  in  her  own  affairs,  did  her 
best  to  bring  a  little  gentle  pleasure  into  his  harsh 
life,  and  bore  meekly  his  infirmities  of  temper. 
Dorothy  had  been  raised  in  the  strict  and  relig 
ious  discipline  of  an  old-time  New  England  home. 
Her  father,  the  Squire's  brother,  was  a  man  who 
joined  to  a  singularly  religious  disposition,  where 
of  the  inflexibility  of  its  moral  principles  and  the 
tender  benevolence  of  its  charity  were  equally  con 
spicuous,  a  cultivation  of  mind  which  would  not 
have  been  discreditable  to  a  scholar  by  profes 
sion.  Two  lessons  he  impressed  upon  his  daugh 
ter's  mind  —  with  what  success  we  shall  see  —  how 
sacred  is  duty,  and  how  holy  is  service.  Often 
indeed  he  spoke  to  her  of  the  Puritan  traditions 
of  which  he  was  justly  proud;  but  oftener  still 
he  reminded  her  that  the  best  proof  of  noble  an 
cestry  is  not  contained  in  tables  of  genealogy,  but 
in  doing  one's  utmost  for  the  present  benefit  of 
the  world.  Utterly  devoid  of  the  feelings  of  false 
aristocracy,  and  convinced  that  in  a  democratic 
society  a  man's  duty  is  to  mingle  with  the  com 
mon  lot  and  share  the  common  life,  he  sent  Dor 
othy  to  the  public  schools  of  Axton,  and  rejoiced 
to  see  her  romping  home  surrounded  by  a  group 
of  playmates  of  all  sorts  and  conditions,  who  would 
carry  on  their  games  upon  his  lawn  or  gather  in 
the  music-room  of  his  house  for  dancing  and  sing 
ing  to  their  hearts'  content. 


THE  PRIEST  43 

Mr.  Danforth  came  to  Axton  only  a  few  months 
before  Mr.  Wakefield's  death ;  but  brief  as  was  the 
acquaintance  of  the  two  men,  it  was  long  enough 
to  bind  them  together  in  devoted  friendship.  The 
young  minister's  fine  scholarship  and  earnest  zeal 
won  him  instant  welcome  to  Mr.  Wakefield's  heart 
and  home.  "  There  is  a  man,"  he  said  more  than 
once  to  Dorothy  after  Danforth  had  left  of  an 
evening,  "  who  is  what  a  son  of  the  Puritans  ought 
to  be.  From  the  past  he  has  received  an  inher 
itance  of  nobility,  but  he  is  proving  that  he  is  no 
idle  legatee  of  a  worthy  name.  He  is  achieving 
his  own  nobility  by  so  splendidly  living  for  the 
present  and  the  future.  My  little  girl  must 
be  in  her  sphere  what  our  young  pastor  is  in 
his." 

It  was  natural  then  that  Dorothy  and  the  min 
ister  should  be  drawn  closely  together.  The  girl's 
veneration  for  his  character  and  talents  was  given 
the  warmer  touch  of  sisterly  affection  by  her 
father's  regard  for  him;  and  so  it  came  to  pass 
that  Dorothy,  especially  after  Mr.  Wakefield's 
death,  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  rectory  where 
Danforth  lived  with  his  mother.  Natural,  like 
wise,  was  it  that  when  the  minister  began  his 
work  among  the  workingmen,  Dorothy  should 
become  his  enthusiastic  ally.  Despite  the  plead 
ings  and  reproaches  of  her  uncle  —  to  which  she 
invariably  gave  answer  that  she  knew  her  father 
would  approve  her  if  he  were  living  —  she  under 
took  settlement-work,  teaching  a  class  of  Italians 


44  THE  PRIEST 

in  the  evening,  and  visiting  the  laborers'  houses 
whenever  she  felt  that  she  could  be  of  service. 

Thereby  she  became  the  second  of  the  Squire's 
domestic  afflictions.  Of  course  she  was  sorry  to 
disregard  her  uncle's  wishes;  but  she  had  learned 
from  a  better  man  lessons  as  to  the  meaning  of 
her  life  which  convinced  her  that  this  transgres 
sion  was  a  duty.  After  the  first  few  stormy  days, 
in  which  she  was  forced  to  listen  to  such  phrases 
as  "  apostasy  from  Puritan  traditions ;  "  "  dis 
honor  to  the  name  of  Wakefield ;  "  "  unaccountable 
mania  to  forget  your  station  in  society ; "  and 
many  others  of  similar  import,  the  subject  was 
dropped  between  them,  and  gradually  their  former 
friendly  relations  were,  in  great  part,  restored. 
But  an  outbreak  of  the  Squire's  ill-controlled  tem 
per  was  always  imminent,  and  on  the  morning  after 
the  town-meeting  it  occurred. 


IV 

Mr.  Wakefield  slept  but  little  that  night  of  his 
public  humiliation.  Stung  to  the  quick  of  his 
irascible  nature,  he  nursed  his  injury  in  the  soli 
tude  of  his  chamber  until  it  was  in  a  state  of  angry 
inflammation.  Probably  during  even  his  brief  and 
troubled  sleep,  as  was  certainly  the  case  during 
the  long  hours  that  he  kept  awake,  his  lips  ceased 
not  to  utter  vituperation  of  Mr.  Danforth  and 
heartfelt  wishes  for  his  deep  damnation.  "  I'll  get 
even  with  that  cub  of  a  preacher ! "  was  his  greet 
ing  to  the  clear,  cold  morning;  and  a  wild  roar  to 
the  servant  for  his  hot  water,  his  salutation  to  the 
household.  Entering  the  breakfast-room,  he  paid 
no  attention  to  the  "  Good  morning  "  of  Dorothy, 
who  was  waiting  for  him  there.  He  went  through 
his  meal  in  silence,  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  thus 
began  his  well-premeditated  attack. 

"  That  confounded  minister  whom  you  are  so 
devoted  to,  insulted  me  publicly  last  night." 

The  color  vanished  from  Dorothy's  face,  and 
her  voice  shook  as  she  answered :  "  I  hope,  Uncle, 
it  was  nothing  serious." 

"  Nothing  serious  ?  "  barked  the  Squire ;  "  I  tell 
you,  when  Amos  Wakefield  is  attacked  and  hu 
miliated  before  an  Axton  town-meeting,  it  is  very 
serious.  Danforth,  confound  him !  told  me  in  the 
presence  of  my  fellow-townsmen  that  I  had  no  pa 
triotism,  and  plainly  implied  that  I  was  a  fool. 

And  why?     Because  I  respect  my  name  and  line- 

45 


46  THE  PRIEST 

age,  refuse  to  rub  elbows  with  the  scum  of  Europe, 
and  will  not  worship  the  Pope  of  Rome." 

"  Why,  how  did  the  Pope  come  into  it?  "  asked 
Dorothy,  once  more  in  perfect  control  of  herself. 

"  A  Roman  priest  is  coming  here  to  carry  on  his 
superstitious  services  among  the  rabble,"  said  the 
Squire;  "and  as  a  Wakefield,  jealous  of  the  fair 
name  of  this  village,  I  protested  against  such  an 
infamy,  and  besought  the  citizens  not  to  harbor 
him  or  furnish  him  with  facilities  for  establishing 
a  Romanist  community  here.  I  talked  straight 
from  the  shoulder;  and  I  know  the  men  present 
were  impressed.  Then  this  preacher  of  yours  got 
up  and  insulted  me,  winding  up  with  a  lot  of  rub 
bish  nonsense  about  the  flag  and  our  country, 
which  of  course  turned  all  the  idiots  in  the  hall 
against  me." 

"  Why,  Uncle  — "  began  Dorothy. 

"  Now  look  here,  Dorothy,"  interrupted  the 
Squire,  rising  from  his  chair ;  "  I  am  not  going  to 
listen  to  your  apologies  for  Danforth,  or  possibly 
to  a  speech  in  which  you  will  inform  me  that  it  is 
wicked  to  hate  Rome.  I  am  in  no  mood  now  to  en 
dure  that  sort  of  thing.  What  I  want  to  know 
is,  Are  you  going  to  continue  in  your  intimate 
co-operation  with  an  upstart  who  has  publicly  in 
sulted  the  head  of  your  family,  and  the  nearest 
kinsman  you  have  living?  Is  it  not  clear  to  you 
that  your  family  honor  requires  you  to  cut  loose 
from  him  and  from  all  his  works  and  pomps?  Am 
I  nothing  to  you,  and  is  Danforth  everything?  " 


THE  PRIEST  47 

"  You  must  know,  Uncle,  that  it  is  for  no  per 
sonal  reason  that  I  assist  Mr.  Danforth's  settle 
ment-work.  It  is  for  the  sake  of  the  good  that  I 
can  do.  It  is  because  I  wish  to  live  a  somewhat 
higher  life  than  one  of  indolence  and  vanity." 

"  Let  that  pass,"  replied  the  Squire ;  "  Go  on 
eating  macaroni  with  Italians  if  you  like  — " 

It  was  now  Dorothy's  turn  to  interrupt.  Ris 
ing  from  the  table  and  taking  a  step  toward  the 
door,  she  said: 

"  Uncle  Amos,  I  cannot  continue  a  conversa 
tion  with  you,  in  which  you  so  far  forget  the  re 
spect  that  is  due  to  yourself  and  to  me.  Certainly 
I  should  resent  any  unjust  attack  made  upon  you 
by  Mr.  Dan  forth  or  anybody  else.  When  I  learn 
the  details  of  the  unfortunate  incident,  I  shall  do 
what  I  think  proper  in  the  matter,"  and  with  this 
the  door  closed  behind  her. 

Her  uncle  was  after  her  in  an  instant.  Taking 
her  by  the  hand,  he  said :  "  Dorothy,  forgive  me 
if  I  have  been  rude.  I  am  overwrought,  I  suppose. 
But  you  must  come  back  and  finish  this  discus 
sion.  I  have  much  more  to  say  to  you."  To  this 
persuasion  Dorothy  yielded,  and  she  took  the  seat 
she  had  just  left. 

"  Dorothy,"  began  Mr.  Wakefield,  "  I  have  a 
duty  towards  you,  although  you  are,  in  great 
measure,  independent  of  me;  and  this  duty  now 
calls  for  plain  speaking.  You  visit  Danforth's 
house  a  great  deal." 

"  That  cannot  be  a  new  discovery,"  answered 


48  THE  PRIEST 

the  girl.  "  I  have  been  visiting  Mr.  Danforth  and 
his  mother  since  before  my  father's  death." 

"  But  times  and  persons  change,"  responded 
Wakefield,  with  some  abruptness.  "  Will  you 
please  tell  me  if  it  is  from  Danforth's  that  you 
come  on  these  frequent  occasions  of  late  when  you 
reach  home  at  ten  o'clock  and  after?  I  refer  to 
the  nights  which  are  not  devoted  to  your  settle 
ment  work,  as  you  call  it." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Dorothy  calmly,  "  it  is." 

"  Do  you  think  it  becoming,"  asked  her  uncle, 
"  to  call  so  often  and  stay  so  late  at  the  house  of 
an  unmarried  man?  " 

"  Uncle,"  replied  Dorothy,  "  I  resent  the  hor 
rible  imputation  of  your  question,  since  whatever 
your  sense  of  duty  toward  me,  you  should  have 
first  sought  for  a  reasonable  justification  of  my 
conduct.  You  have  made  suspicion  your  first  con 
clusion;  whereas  I  think  I  deserve  that  it  should 
be  your  last.  In  these  evening  visits  I  see  Mr. 
Danforth  scarcely  at  all  as  a  rule.  He  is  either 
out  or  engaged  in  his  study,  and  practically  all 
my  time  is  spent  with  his  mother.  Besides  this 
explanation,  there  is  another  which  I  would  pre 
fer  not  to  give  unless  you  call  for  it." 

"  I  do  call  for  it,"  said  the  Squire. 

"  Very  well,"  continued  the  girl,  with  a  trace 
of  hesitancy  in  her  voice ;  "  I  remain  later  at  the 
rectory  than  I  otherwise  should,  because  Mr. 
Danforth  and  his  mother  usually  have  evening 
prayer  and  meditation  at  half-past  nine,  and  I 


THE  PRIEST  49 

like  to  join  them  as  often  as  I  can,  for  it  gives 
me  help  and  inspiration  that  I  sorely  need." 

If  any  subtle  reproach  lay  beneath  these  last 
words,  her  uncle  failed  to  see  it;  for  he  only 
looked  up  at  the  ceiling  and  sent  forth  a  long 
whistle,  evidently  an  expression  of  astonishment  too 
profound  for  words. 

"  So  that's  it,  is  it?  "  he  remarked,  more  to  him 
self  than  to  her.  "  The  Pharisees  were  great  fel 
lows  for  prayer,  I  believe. 

"  Dorothy,"  he  said,  turning  suddenly  toward 
his  niece ;  "  Danforth  is  playing  on  your  woman's 
sentiment  and  feeling.  He  wants  to  marry  you; 
and  in  my  soul  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  your 
money  he  is  looking  for." 

"  Your  suspicions  this  morning  are  as  baseless 
as  they  are  numerous,"  replied  Dorothy.  "  The 
farthest  thought  from  Mr.  Danforth's  mind  is 
that  of  making  love  to  me  or  to  anyone  else.  You 
do  not  know  him  at  all.  He  is  absolutely  absorbed 
in  his  work  and  study.  And  while  I  believe  that 
the  woman  who  would  become  his  wife  would  be 
favored  of  Heaven,  for  he  is  a  prince  among  men, 
I  doubt  whether  such  a  woman  lives.  And  now, 
you  must  excuse  me." 

Once  more  Mr.  Wakefield  was  alone;  and  for  a 
long  time  he  remained  so,  his  head  bowed  upon  his 
breast,  digesting  his  anger  as  best  he  could. 


Father  Hanlon  was  a  procrastinator  by  nature ; 
and  it  was  only  after  two  days  had  elapsed  from 
his  arrival  in  Axton  that  he  set  out  to  call  upon 
the  minister  to  thank  him  for  his  speech  at  the 
town  meeting.  In  those  two  days  he  had  acquired 
and  heard  much  concerning  Mr.  Danforth.  In 
the  first  place,  he  learned  that  this  gentleman  was 
a  Unitarian.  Hanlon's  heart  fell  when  he  re 
ceived  this  information.  He  had  a  horror  of  Uni- 
tarianism.  Like  nearly  all  Catholics  and  a  large 
number  of  orthodox  evangelicals,  he  held  the  Uni 
tarians  could  not  be  Christians,  none  deserving 
that  name  save  those  who  believed  the  traditional 
dogma  of  the  Incarnation.  To  belong  to  a  relig 
ion  whose  sole  end  and  essence  was  to  attack  and 
destroy  Christ  —  for  so  the  priest  understood  the 
Unitarian  form  of  faith  —  was  a  disastrous  mis 
fortune,  an  awful  sacrilege.  Half  in  pity,  half 
in  fear,  Father  Hanlon,  as  he  strode  through  the 
snow  on  this  memorable  night  of  his  interview 
with  his  benefactor,  whispered  a  prayer  that  the 
good  man  who  had  spoken  so  valiantly  for  the 
church,  might  be  led  to  see  the  fundamental  truth 
of  the  Christian  Gospel.  Perhaps  —  his  step 
quickened  as  the  great  hope  flashed  upon  his  mind 
—  perhaps  he,  Ambrose  Hanlon,  would  bring  this 
about;  perhaps  this  was  the  very  purpose  of 
Providence  in  sending  him  to  Axton.  "  Adveniat 
regnum  tuum,  fiat  voluntas  tua ! "  he  murmured, 

lifting  his  pale  face  to  the  stars. 

50 


THE  PRIEST  51 

Another  report  of  the  minister  had  reached 
Father  Hanlon.  Mr.  Danforth  had  been  holding 
religious  services  among  the  laborers,  of  whom 
the  majority  were  Italians,  and  consequently 
Catholics.  This  was  disquieting.  He  should  be 
obliged  to  call  Danforth's  attention  to  the  matter, 
and  he  feared  a  quarrel  in  consequence.  The  thing 
must  be  stopped ;  that  was  plain.  But  would  Dan 
forth  be  liberal  enough  to  see  the  Catholic  point 
of  view? 

Thinking  of  these  matters,  Hanlon  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  rectory  and  touched  the  bell.  His 
first  visit  to  a  Protestant  minister's  house,  and 
that  minister  a  Unitarian !  As  he  heard  the  bell 
ring  inside  a  strange  feeling  of  revulsion  came 
over  him.  It  was  too  bad  that  he  had  been  obliged 
to  come.  He  was  horribly  out  of  place.  Think 
of  a  Catholic  priest  beneath  the  roof  of  a  cold, 
rationalistic  unbeliever!  But  he  would  cut  the 
visit  very  short.  And  if  Danforth,  in  the  courte 
ous  manner  common  to  these  Unitarian  ministers, 
as  rumor  has  it,  subtly  attacked  the  Church,  he 
would  find  that  the  pastor  of  the  Axton  Catholics 
had  courage  and  science  enough  to  disconcert  him. 
"  By  the  way,  what  were  those  proofs  of  Christ's 
Divinity  we  got  in  Rome  ?  "  The  servant  took  his 
card  while  he  was  recollecting  them,  and  returned 
in  a  moment  to  request  the  visitor  to  step  upstairs 
into  Mr.  Danforth's  study,  where  the  minister, 
just  then  detained,  would  join  him  in  five  minutes. 
This  was  cordial,  and  Ambrose  felt  a  little  less 


52  THE  PRIEST 

agitated  as  he  stepped  across  the  threshold  of  Mr. 
Danforth's  sanctum. 

"  Mr.  Danforth,"  suggested  the  maid,  "  says 
that  you  may  like  to  look  over  his  books  while  you 
are  waiting." 

Father  Hanlon  did  not  at  once  notice  the  book 
shelves,  though  they  covered  three  sides  of  the 
large  room  from  floor  to  ceiling,  while  books  to 
the  number  of  perhaps  a  hundred,  lay  in  orderly 
piles  on  the  floor.  His  eyes  were  drawn  to  an 
other  object,  the  last  in  the  world  he  expected  to 
see  in  a  Unitarian  house.  This  was  an  ivory  cru 
cifix  hung  against  a  mat  of  black  velvet  above  Dan 
forth's  desk. 

"  What  in  the  world,"  was  the  visitor's  almost 
audible  exclamation,  "  is  he  doing  with  that  ? 
Surely  Unitarians  have  no  spiritual  life,  but  only 
a  frozen  code  of  cultured  behavior, —  and  what 
relation  can  there  be  between  that  sort  of  thing 
and  this  symbol  of  the  saints  ?  " 

The  crucifix  was  the  sole  decoration  of  the  room, 
except  an  engraving  of  Rembrandt's  "  St.  Paul." 
Father  Hanlon  stood  looking  at  the  sacred  sign, 
his  astonishment  growing  every  moment.  "  Can 
it  be  that  the  man  really  believes  in  Christ?  "  his 
musing  went  on.  "  Is  he  one  of  those  ministers 
of  whom  the  number  doubtless  is  large,  who  are 
secretly  convinced  of  the  Church's  truth?  "  With 
a  prayer  once  more  rising  to  his  lips,  he  turned 
to  the  laden  shelves. 

We  have  said  that  Ambrose  was  a  student  by 


THE  PRIEST  53 

instinct.  Now  as  his  eye  ranged  along  that  fine 
array  of  volumes,  the  old,  eager  love  of  scholar 
ship  dominated  him.  With  earnest  face  and  eyes 
shining  with  a  new  light,  he  threw  his  glance  from 
shelf  to  shelf,  from  book  to  book,  hungry  for 
knowledge,  aflame  with  the  scholar's  sacred  desire 
to  know,  to  know.  Here  was  a  section  given  up 
to  philosophy,  the  thinkers  of  ancient  Greece 
standing  close  to  the  minds  of  modern  Germany, 
England  and  France.  Hanlon  knew  his  Aquinas, 
and  felt  no  doubt  that  the  Angelic  Doctor  was  the 
greatest  of  philosophers,  compared  with  whom  the 
"  moderns  " —  the  "  isti  moderni  "  of  his  sneering 
seminary  syllogism  were  but  blundering  pygmies. 
Still,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  oevres  completes  of  the 
great  French  speculators,  and  the  gesammelte 
Werke  of  the  German  critical  school,  he  realized 
that  he  ought  to  know  these  men,  and  an  uneasy 
sense  came  over  him  of  the  insufficiency  of  sneer 
ing  syllogisms  as  an  introduction  to  Kant,  Fichte, 
Hegel,  and  their  school. 

Here,  too,  was  Literature,  embracing  the  mas 
terpieces  of  five  languages,  the  classic  tongues, 
German,  French  and  English.  Hanlon  had  for 
gotten  his  Greek,  and  was  innocent  of  German, 
and  it  was  with  a  sigh  that  he  contemplated  treas 
ures  at  present  beyond  his  reach.  History  next! 
and  the  priest  wondered  how  Danforth  could  have 
afforded  so  lordly  a  collection.  "  Religion !  "  was 
the  printed  card  over  the  neighboring  alcove,  and 
Father  Hanlon  fairly  flung  himself  upon  the  books 


54  THE  PRIEST 

beneath  it.  Here  were  the  German  critics  whom  he 
was  cherishing  the  desire  of  refuting,  those  inde 
fatigable  searchers  into  the  Old  Testament  and  the 
New,  against  whom  Bishop  Shyrne  and  the  semi 
nary  professors  had  shot  so  many  shafts.  How 
voluminous  they  were,  with  their  endless  tomes  of 
"  Handkommentaren,"  "  Einleitungen,"  and  "  Er- 
klarungen."  "  I'll  begin  German  this  very  night," 
whispered  Hanlon  in  an  ecstasy  of  expectation. 
But  what  books  are  these?  Catholic  theology  and 
Catholic  devotion !  In  Heaven's  name,  what  sort 
of  man  was  this  Unitarian  minister?  Here  were 
the  thick  quartos  of  St.  Thomas'  Summa ;  near  by 
a  numerous  set  of  Papal  bulls  and  decrees ;  and 
filling  two  shelves,  were  John  of  the  Cross,  Tauler, 
Ruysbroek,  a  Kempis  and  other  doctors  of  Cath 
olic  mysticism.  In  a  maze  of  astonishment,  the 
priest  turned  again  to  the  German  critics,  and 
took  from  its  place  a  volume  of  the  Bishop's 
great  foeman,  Harnack.  He  turned  the  pages,  un 
intelligible  to  him  as  they  were,  with  a  strange 
feeling  of  mental  enlargement,  as  though  the  sight 
and  contact  of  so  much  learning  had  already  given 
him  a  scholar's  patent  of  nobility.  While  he  still 
held  the  book,  Danforth  entered  the  room. 

"  My  dear  Father  Hanlon,  this  visit  does  me 
honor.  I  thank  you  for  it,  and  cordially  welcome 
you  to  my  house  and  to  Axton.  I  had  heard  of 
your  arrival,  and  was  anxious  to  meet  you.  I  am 
sure  we  shall  be  the  best  of  friends." 

The    minister   reinforced   these    warmly-spoken 


THE  PRIEST  55 

words  with  a  manly  grip  of  the  hand,  and  a  look 
of  friendliness  which  won  Father  Hanlon  on  the 
instant.  The  priest  expressed  his  gratitude  in 
the  lower  tone  and  less  vigorous  manner  which  were 
natural  to  him,  and  Danforth  said : 

"  Let's  have  a  smoke.  I  have  a  famous  cigar 
here  which  I  keep  only  for  the  elect." 

Father  Hanlon  did  not  smoke. 

"  Too  bad,"  laughed  Danforth ;  "  but  you  will 
not  object  if  I  indulge  this  bit  of  sensuality." 
Seating  himself  upon  his  revolving  desk-chair  and 
blowing  a  fragrant  cloud  from  his  lips  with  a  fer 
vent  "  Ah  "  of  gratification,  the  minister  went  on : 

"  I  see  you  have  been  looking  into  Harnack. 
What  a  glorious  scholar  he  is!  He  has  a  good 
deal  of  religion  in  him,  too.  I  hate  a  critic  who  is 
without  reverence.  I  must  confess  I  take  a  more 
radical  view  than  Harnack  of  the  Lucan  author 
ship.  I  prefer  Holtzmann  on  that  point.  I  pre 
sume  you  are  inclined  to  the  traditional  view  ?  " 

"  The  presumption  is  probably  correct,"  an 
swered  Hanlon ;  "  but  I  am  not  familiar  with  Har- 
nack's  views  on  the  matter." 

"  He  aims  at  proving,"  explained  Danforth, 
"  largely  on  a  study  of  style,  that  the  third  Gospel 
and  the  We-sections  of  Acts  were  written  by  one 
and  the  same  man,  Luke  namely.  Did  you  ever 
happen  to  draw  up  a  comparative  table  of  the 
Greek  vocabulary  of  the  third  Gospel  and  the 
We-sections  ?  " 

"  No,"  the  priest  responded,  wondering  what  in 


56  THE  PRIEST 

the  world  "  We-sections  "  were ;  "  I  have  not  yet 
done  any  work  of  that  kind." 

"  That  volume  of  the  Dogmengeschichte  in  your 
hand  is  the  one  in  which  Harnack  discusses  the 
origins  of  Gnosticism,"  said  Danforth.  "  I  wish 
he  had  employed  the  religionsgeschichtliche 
Meihode  somewhat  more  adequately  on  that  in 
tensely  interesting  point.  I  am  inclined  to  regard 
Gnosticism  as  a  vast  reservoir  of  ancient  ethnic 
mysticism.  Anz  has  tried  to  carry  back  Gnosti 
cism's  origins  even  to  Babylonia,  and  I  think  he  is 
on  the  right  track.  By  the  way,  have  you  read 
Harnack's  '  Reden  tmd  Aufsatze?  ' 

Pedantic  as  all  this  appears,  there  was  abso 
lutely  no  trace  of  affectation  in  the  young  minis 
ter's  manner.  These  studies  were  evidently  his 
delight,  and  he  ran  on  with  the  technicalities  of 
them,  thinking  that  the  guest  whom  he  had  sur 
prised  with  Harnack  in  his  hand,  was  as  familiar 
with  them  as  himself. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  unconsciously  led  you 
into  a  false  impression,"  said  Father  Hanlon,  with 
a  frank  smile,  which  did  not,  however,  dispel  cer 
tain  indications  of  embarrassment.  "  I  cannot 
read  German;  but  if  our  acquaintance  shall  by 
good  fortune  be  long  enough,  I  hope  to  discuss 
this  literature  with  you  some  day,  for  I  intend 
to  begin  learning  the  language  at  once," 

"  Admirable !  "  exclaimed  Danforth.  "  It's  hor 
ribly  hard,  German  is,  at  least  I  found  it  so ;  but 
I  know  you  will  soon  master  it,  and  remember,  all 


THE  PRIEST  57 

my  books  are  at  jour  disposal.  Take  any  of  them 
you  wish,  and  keep  them  as  long  as  you  please." 

"  I  will  not  forget  so  much  kindness,"  was  the 
priest's  cordial  acknowledgment. 

"  There  is  one  scholar  in  your  Church,"  said 
Danforth,  "  whom  I  admire  from  my  heart,  and 
that  is  the  Abbe  Loisy.  I  hope  you  share  my  feel 
ing  for  that  splendid  student  ?  " 

"  I  regret  that  I  cannot  think  favorably  of 
Loisy,"  answered  the  priest.  "  He  is  recklessly 
attacking  the  doctrines  of  the  Church,  and  I  must 
say  that  I  cannot  tolerate  such  men." 

"  Dear  me !  that  is  too  bad,"  said  the  minister, 
a  look  of  distress  coming  into  his  face.  "  Surely 
you  are  too  hard  on  him  in  saying  that  he  is  reck 
less  in  his  studies." 

"  I  think  he  is  reckless,"  persisted  Hanlon,  "  for 
he  has  been  repeatedly  censured  and  warned  by 
the  highest  authorities  in  the  Church.  His  disobe 
dience  is  wilful  and  stubborn." 

"  But  do  look  at  it  in  another  way,"  argued 
Danforth,  turning  his  candid  eyes  earnestly  upon 
the  other  man.  "  Consider  this  lonely  student  liv 
ing  in  laborious  solitude,  his  heart  pure,  his  con 
duct  irreproachable,  seeking  truth,  spending  him 
self  for  truth,  persecuted  for  truth.  Do  you  for 
get  his  sufferings  ?  Do  you  think  it  is  for  a  whim 
that  he  incurs  disgl-ace  and  anathema?  Why, 
every  feature  of  that  great  priest's  life  is  simply 
glorious.  I  revere  the  man." 

"  He  ought  to  submit  his  personal  views  to  the 


58  THE  PRIEST 

command  of  authority,"  was  Hanlon's  reply,  given 
in  a  decisive  tone. 

"  But  truth  cannot  thus  be  fastened  upon  us  like 
a  bridle  on  a  horse*  Truth  reaches  us  by  way  of 
reason  and  conscience,  and  until  reason  and  con 
science  approve  a  thing  as  true,  no  human  dictate 
can  possibly  drive  it  into  a  free  intelligence.  Per 
sonality,  Father  Hanlon,  is  the  divinity  within  us. 
Personality  is  life.  Personality  is  the  soul.  To 
crush  that  is  to  commit  the  most  horrible  of  mur 
ders.  I  cannot  contain  myself  when  I  see  God's 
infinitely  precious  gifts  thrust  into  shackles  by 
courts,  curias  or  kings.  Why,  the  tears  of  indig 
nation  burn  my  eyes  to  this  day,  when  I  think  of 
seventy-year-old  Galileo  standing  up  before  the 
Roman  Inquisition  and  forced  to  speak  a  lie 
against  his  own  intelligence;  or  when  I  see  pure 
and  profound  scholars  in  the  Protestant  church 
—  men  like  Robertson  Smith  —  driven  from  their 
posts  of  teaching  by  ignorant  and  despotic  bigots. 
I  became  a  Unitarian  because  I  felt  that  in  that 
fellowship,  whatever  the  faults  of  Unitarianism, 
and  they  are  many,  the  greatest  thing  was  held 
to  be  personality  freely  growing  towards  its 
God." 

Danforth  spoke  these  words  leaning  forward 
in  his  chair,  and  his  wonderful  voice  rang  with 
passionate  sincerity. 

"  But,  dear  Father  Hanlon,"  he  continued,  as 
after  a  moment's  pause,  the  priest  remained  silent ; 
"  we  shall  study  together.  Yes,  and  since  we  are 


THE  PRIEST  59 

Christ's  ministers,  we  shall  pray  together.  God 
guide  us  both !  Tell  me  how  you  like  Axton." 

"  That  brings  me  to  the  main  purpose  of  my 
visit,"  said  Hanlon,  far  from  being  perfectly  at 
ease.  "  I  came  to  thank  you  for  your  noble  words 
at  Tuesday's  town-meeting.  You  did  me  and  my 
people  a  service,  a  great  service,  and  with  all  my 
heart  I  thank  you.  I  was  present,  though  unrec 
ognized,  and  so  know  the  full  extent  of  your  mag 
nanimous  action." 

"Were  you  really  there?"  laughed  Danforth. 
"  What  a  pity  Mr.  Wakefield  is  so  narrow.  His 
brother  was  the  noblest  of  men.  You  know  old 
Amos  is  after  me  too," —  the  minister  had  dropped 
back  into  his  boyish  manner  — "  but  I  don't  care. 
I'm  doing  my  duty  in  my  own  way,  and  it  will 
take  more  than  this  honorable  Squire  to  stop  me 
from  doing  it.  You  see  it's  the  old  trouble  be 
tween  the  conservative  and  the  liberal  " —  Hanlon 
did  not  miss  the  laugh  in  Danf orth's  eye  — "  I've 
been  trying  to  do  a  little  work  out  of  traditional 
boundaries,  and  the  Squire  is  maneuvering  to  fix 
the  bit  in  my  mouth." 

"  You  are  meeting  the  usual  fate  of  innovators," 
said  Father  Hanlon  with  more  geniality  than  he 
had  yet  shown. 

Danforth  laughed.  "  I  wonder,"  he  said,  "  what 
sort  of  imbecile  asylum  this  world  would  be  but 
for  innovators.  Even  yet  we  are  far  from  ade 
quately  appreciating  them.  Do  you  know,  I  think 
civilization  will  continue  to  be  semi-barbaric  until 


60  THE  PRIEST 

the  word  '  apostate '  ceases  to  be  a  term  of  dis 
grace  and  becomes  a  word  of  honor." 

"  That  is  startling !  "  exclaimed  the  priest. 

"  But  is  it  not  true? "  pursued  Danforth. 
"  Why,  the  word  ought  to  be  glorified  if  only  be 
cause  that  man  has  lived  " —  and  he  pointed  to  the 
"  St.  Paul."  "  *  Apostate  '  was  hissed  into  his  ear 
from  synagogue  and  street,  by  bigots  who  knew  not 
that  Saul  of  Tarsus  was  to  be  the  patron-saint  of 
apostates  for  conscience'  sake  forever.  Yes,  and 
a  greater  than  Paul  was  an  apostate."  Dan- 
forth's  voice  sank  low,  as  though  he  were  meditat 
ing  with  himself.  "  Jesus  was  an  apostate.  And 
ignorant  authority,  brutal,  hierarchic,  conserva 
tism  killed  Him  for  His  apostasy,  His  magnificent, 
His  divine  apostasy !  " 

Both  men  were  silent.  Danforth's  eyes  looked 
towards  the  floor;  Hanlon's,  wide  opened,  were 
fixed  on  Danforth.  The  thoughts  of  each  were 
profound  indeed. 

A  bell  rang  in  the  room,  and  Father  Hanlon 
rose,  apologizing  for  his  long  stay.  The  minis 
ter  assured  him  that  his  visit  was  all  too  short. 
"  That  is  my  mother's  ring,"  he  added.  "  She  was 
not  aware  that  I  had  company,  and  in  case  I  am 
not  engaged,  she  summons  me  at  this  hour  every 
night  for  evening  prayer  and  meditation." 

It  cost  the  priest  an  effort  to  conceal  his  aston 
ishment. 

Danforth  looked  searchingly  at  the  priest,  and 
continued :  "  Since  you  are  a  clergyman  you  would 


THE  PRIEST  61 

be  very  welcome  to  our  little  devotional  circle. 
My  mother  and  I,  and  sometimes  Miss  .Wakefield, 
are  all  that  are  present.  I  would  like  to  have  you 
join  us,  and  my  mother  would  be  pleased.  But 
your  theology  forbids  praying  with  heretics,  and 
I  wish  you  would  not  feel  the  least  constraint. 
'  Nulla  communicatio  cum  haereticis  in  divinis  '  is 
the  Catholic  axiom  in  the  matter,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Who  can  account  for  those  strange  sub-con 
scious  forces  which  at  times  fling  suddenly  into  our 
brains  and  upon  our  lips,  judgments  and  resolu 
tions  so  foreign  to  our  ordinary  thought  and  tem 
per,  that  afterwards  we  marvel  that  we  have  formed 
them?  In  some  inexplicable  impulse  of  this  sort, 
Father  Hanlon  said :  "  Your  invitation  is  an 
honor;  I  will  attend  your  devotions  with  sincere 
pleasure." 

They  went  downstairs  together,  the  priest's 
mind  in  such  a  tumult  that  he  took  no  notice  of 
the  radiant  pleasure  that  beamed  on  the  face  of  his 
host;  and  understanding  out  of  Danforth's  rapid 
utterance  only  a  few  words  to  the  effect  that  his 
mother  was  a  Quaker,  and  that  meditative  devo 
tions  were  so  dear  to  her.  It  was  the  sight  of  Mrs. 
Danforth's  face  which  recalled  him  to  wide-awake 
consciousness.  Hanlon  had  never  seen  such  spir 
itual  beauty  on  a  human  countenance.  Mrs.  Dan- 
forth  was  midway  between  sixty  and  seventy;  her 
hair  was  of  glistening  white;  old  age  had  left  its 
usual  traces  upon  her  brow;  but  her  features  were 
glorified  with  a  peace  and  purity  that  seemed  to 


62  THE  PRIEST 

glow  with  the  light  of  another  world.  Father 
Hanlon  held  her  hand  and  gazed  at  her,  saying 
no  word  to  her  first  greeting,  able  for  the  moment 
only  to  contemplate  that  wonderful  face,  whose 
loveliness  he  knew  could  come  only  from  within  and 
from  above. 

"  Father  Hanlon  is  going  to  be  a  dear  friend  of 
ours,  mother,"  said  her  son. 

"  I  welcome  thee,  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Danforth, 
looking  full  into  Hanlon's  eyes,  whereat  the  priest 
understood  where  Danforth  had  got  the  striking 
candor  of  his  gaze.  The  sweet  voice  went  on: 
"  It  is  a  happy  promise  for  our  friendship  that  we 
first  greet  thee  at  this  moment  of  our  communion 
with  the  Holy  Spirit.  The  Lord  Jesus  cometh 
with  thee,  friend,  for  we  two  or  three  are  about 
to  come  together  in  His  name,  and  He  will  be  in 
the  midst  of  us." 

Now  for  the  first  time  Father  Hanlon  noticed 
a  tall  young  woman,  who  came  forward  with  ex 
tended  hand  and  a  winning  smile  upon  her  beauti 
ful  face,  as  Danforth  made  the  necessary  intro 
duction  to  Miss  Dorothy  Wakefield. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  indeed  to  meet  you,  Father 
Hanlon,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  that  we  shall  see 
much  of  you.  Your  coming  is  a  great  gain  to 
Axton." 

Two  or  three  minutes  of  conversation  followed, 
and  then  Mrs.  Danforth  walked  to  a  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  whereon  lay  an  open  Bible, 
before  which  she  knelt.  Dorothy  knelt  at  her  left, 


THE  PRIEST  63 

her  son  at  her  right,  and  Father  Hanlon  was  next 
to  him.  The  priest's  conscience  smote  him  sorely. 
"  Nulla  communicatio  cum  haereticis  in  divinis," 
("No  joining  in  worship  with  heretics")  one  of 
the  fundamental  laws  of  his  church,  kept  throb 
bing  within  his  brain.  The  palliatives  that  he  ad 
ministered  to  his  guilty  soul  were  that  he  would 
silently  say  Catholic  prayers  while  the  others 
were  at  their  heretical  devotions ;  that  he  should 
never  be  found  here  again ;  and  that  at  the  worst, 
his  coming  into  this  forbidden  circle  was  an  act 
of  impulse,  not  deliberation. 

The  voice  of  the  old  Quakeress  fell  upon  his 
ears :  "  Thus  shall  you  pray  " :  Hanlon  lifted  his 
face  —  and  there  was  great  tenderness  in  it  —  and 
looked  at  her,  as  with  downcast  eyes  she  conned 
the  sacred  page.  After  a  moment's  pause  she 
went  on,  with  a  long  interval  after  each  word: 
"  Our  —  Father  —  who  —  art  —  in  —  heaven." 
Here  she  stopped,  her  eyes  closed,  her  clasped 
hands  rested  upon  the  book,  her  head  inclined  gen 
tly  forward,  until  it  was  bowed  low,  and  perfect 
silence  fell  upon  the  group.  It  was  wonderful. 
Tears  rushed  into  the  young  priest's  eyes,  and  he 
too  bowed  his  head.  Five  minutes  —  ten  —  fifteen 
—  and  still  they  meditated.  As  Father  Hanlon 
for  perhaps  the  twentieth  time  was  thanking  God 
for  souls  like  these,  and  praying  that  they  might  be 
led  to  the  truth  of  Catholicism,  Mrs.  Danforth 
placed  the  book  before  her  son,  who  read  with 
devout  feeling  the  canticle  of  Simeon: 


64  THE  PRIEST 

"  Now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  O  Lord 
According  to  thy  word  in  peace. 
For  mine  eyes  have  seen  thy  salvation 
Which   thou   hast   prepared   before   the    face   of   all 

peoples 

A  light  for  revelation  to  the  Gentiles, 
And  the  glory  of  thy  people  Israel." 

The  book  was  passed  to  Miss  Wakefield,  who 
read  in  a  sweet,  full  voice: 

"  Make  ye  ready  the  way  of  the  Lord ; 

Make  his  path  straight. 

Every  valley  shall  be  filled, 
And  every  mountain  and  hill  shall  be  brought  low; 

And  the  crooked  shall  become  straight, 

And  the  rough  ways  smooth 
And  all  flesh  shall  see  the  salvation  of  God." 

When  Dorothy  finished,  Mrs.  Danforth  said  to 
the  priest :  "  Friend,  wilt  thou  speak  a  word  to 
our  spirit?  " 

Father  Hanlon  closed  his  eyes,  and  said,  in  a 
voice  of  quiet  earnestness : 

"  May  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God  our  heavenly 
Father,  descend  upon  us  and  abide  with  us  in  the 
spirit  of  Christ  our  Lord." 

That  night  Ambrose  Hanlon  sat  in  his  lonely 
chamber  till  long  after  midnight,  nearer  to  his 
own  soul,  nearer  to  the  heart  of  ultimate  and  eter 
nal  Reality  than  ever  in  his  life  before. 


VI 

Mr.  Danforth's  settlement-house  was  a  two- 
story  frame  building,  standing  in  a  row  of  similar 
edifices  which  had  lately  been  put  up  for  the  ac 
commodation  of  the  laborers  at  the  car-shops.  It 
differed  from  the  surrounding  buildings  only  by 
being  somewhat  larger  than  most  of  them;  by  a 
flag-pole  in  front  which  flew  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  on  patriotic  holidays;  and  by  the  inscrip 
tion  "  Fraternity  House,"  painted  above  the  en 
trance.  By  breaking  down  the  partitions  on  the 
lower  floor,  a  hall  of  fairly  ample  dimensions  was 
formed,  which  served  the  three-fold  purpose  of 
reading-room,  class-room,  and  general  meeting 
place.  Upstairs  there  were  three  class-rooms. 
The  class  work  comprised  principally  American 
history  and  civics,  English  and  arithmetic.  Only 
boys  and  men  followed  the  evening  courses  in  these 
branches ;  but  on  one  afternoon  a  week  the  girls 
and  women  of  the  neighborhood  were  invited  to  the 
house  for  helpful  instruction  in  house-wifery  and 
in  English.  Very  few  women  responded;  but  the 
classes  for  boys  and  men  were  almost  over 
crowded.  Mr.  Danforth,  Miss  Wakefield,  and  a 
Miss  Hamilton,  daughter  of  one  of  the  church 
trustees  who  had  defended  the  minister  against 
Squire  Wakefield,  were  the  hard-driven  corps  of 
teachers.  Danforth  taught  history  and  civics,  or 
as  his  own  phrase  had  it,  history  and  patriotism. 

Let   us   look   in   upon    this   busy    "  Fraternity 
65 


66  THE  PRIEST 

House,"  the  evening  after  the  meeting  of  priest 
and  minister.  Dorothy  is  endeavoring  to  explain 
the  sad  mystery  of  some  of  our  perfect  tenses 
and  past  participles.  "  Do,  did,  done ;  "  "  go, 
went,  gone ; "  "  run,  ran,  run ; "  and  other  pro 
fundities  of  English  grammar  she  is  trying  hard  to 
fix  in  the  mind  and  memory  of  her  pupils.  A 
strange,  interesting  group,  these  same  pupils! 
There  are  twenty  of  them,  ranging  from  fourteen 
years  of  age  to  thirty-five.  Three  are  Jews,  two 
are  Poles ;  one  is  a  bright-faced  Irish  lad ;  the  rest 
are  Italians.  All  are  attentive.  With  earnest 
faces  and  hard-working  brains,  now  and  then  with  a 
wrinkling  of  foreheads,  they  are  following  their 
fair  young  teacher  as  she  leads  them  a  few  steps 
nearer  to  Knowledge, —  that  Ideal  which  stirs  the 
heart  of  the  immigrant  to  America  almost  as  soon 
as  his  eyes  catch  sight  of  the  Statue  of  Liberty 
from  the  steerage.  They  revere  Dorothy,  these 
Americans-to-be,  and  are  proud  of  being  her 
pupils.  At  their  daily  work  they  often  speak  her 
name  with  affection,  telling  of  this  little  incident 
and  that  which  show  her  goodness  of  heart;  how 
she  bears  with  so-and-so,  who  is  miraculously 
stupid ;  how  tactfully  she  corrects  their  mistakes ; 
how  kind  she  was  to  visit  some  sick  child  the  other 
day  —  but  there  would  be  no  end  of  describing 
how  they  spoke  of  her.  She  was  Saint  Dorothy  to 
them  all.  Had  it  ever  happened  that  some  coarse 
tongue  had  made  base  use  of  her  name  —  well, 
there  were  great  furnaces  in  the  shops,  with  doors 


THE  PRIEST  67 

ever  open  to  fiery  caverns  within,  and  through  these 
doors  it  were  not  impossible  to  thrust  a  full- 
grown  man.  It  was  not  for  her  beautiful  face  that 
they  loved  her.  This  motive,  strong  as  it  might 
have  been,  was  the  least  of  all.  Nor  yet  was  it 
chiefly  owing  to  her  sympathy  and  patience.  It 
was  dominantly  because  she  displayed  before  their 
eyes  that  quality  which  touches  the  ultimate  ele 
ments  of  every  human  soul, —  self-sacrifice,  gener 
ous  and  unpurchased  self-sacrifice  for  others' 
sakes.  Shall  we  not  say  that  these  foreigners 
were  favored  of  Providence  in  learning  American 
liberty  in  this  way  of  Consecration? 

From  desk  to  blackboard,  from  blackboard  to 
desk  goes  Dorothy,  illustrating  the  right  and  the 
wrong  use  of  the  English  verb.  All  minds,  as  we 
have  said,  are  intent  upon  the  explanations.  But 
one  pair  of  eyes,  particularly  dark  and  brilliant, 
never  leave  the  teacher's  face.  They  barely  glance 
at  her  written  words  and  diagrams.  They  are  for 
her,  not  for  her  chalk-lines  on  a  board.  The  pos 
sessor  of  them  is  Dorothy's  brightest  pupil,  Pas- 
quale  Ciasca.  A  year  ago  he  came  to  America 
from  Calabria,  a  youth  of  twenty-four.  For  now 
two  months  he  has  been  attending  the  settlement- 
school.  In  another  school  too  he  is  a  pupil,  one 
not  so  helpful  to  him  —  Murdock's  gang  of  radi 
cals.  There  also  he  is  bright,  and  is  learning  fast. 
Keen,  resolute,  passionate,  he  is  a  man  to  whom 
it  is  more  than  ordinarily  important  which  influ 
ence  shall  predominate  —  that  of  the  Puritan  girl 
or  that  of  the  revolutionary  demagogue. 


68  THE  PRIEST 

Dorothy,  the  preliminary  explanations  fin 
ished,  tells  the  class  to  write  five  short  sentences 
illustrating  the  forms  of  these  troublesome  verbs. 
This  is  no  small  task  for  many  of  her  charges, 
and  these  duller  unfortunates  bend  over  their 
sheets  of  paper  with  more  evidence  of  distress  than 
if  they  were  straining  at  a  windlass  to  lift  a  thou 
sand  pounds  of  iron.  As  they  write,  Dorothy 
walks  slowly  down  the  aisles,  now  checking  a  blun 
der  just  as  the  pencil  is  about  to  perpetrate  it; 
again  dropping  a  word  of  praise  for  a  difficulty 
successfully  surmounted.  When  she  reaches 
Pasquale's  seat  she  finds  that  he  alone  has  finished 
his  five  sentences.  They  are  all  correct. 

"  Good,  Pasquale !  "  she  says. 

"  I  not  good ;  you  good,"  answers  Pasquale. 

Their  eyes  meet,  the  teacher's  shining  with  ap 
probation,  the  pupil's  filled  with  something  far 
deeper. 

"  You  will  make-a  me  good  in  the  Engleesh  ?  " 
whispers  Pasquale,  anxious  to  detain  her. 

Dorothy  smiles  again. 

Catching  her  hand  and  drawing  her  nearer  to 
him,  he  adds  in  a  lower  whisper  that  throbs  with 
passion : 

"  Make-a  me  good  in  everathing." 

"  I  will  help  you  all  I  can,"  answers  Dorothy, 
releasing  herself  and  walking  on  with  flushed  face. 

The  class  goes  on  with  its  elementary  drudgery, 
nineteen  poor  heads  wrestling  with  the  dry  but 
necessary  intricacies  of  our  English  speech.  The 


THE  PRIEST  69 

twentieth  head,  careless  now  of  mood  and  tense, 
is  heated  with  the  fires  of  a  south-Italian  heart. 
What  dreams  is  it  cherishing?  Possibly  what 
wild  and  vengeful  purposes  may  it  not  be  conceiv 
ing? 

Toward  the  end  of  the  hour,  Mr.  Danforth 
comes  in  to  consult  about  something  with  Miss 
Wakefield.  While  they  stand  near  together  talk 
ing  in  low  tones,  Pasquale's  face  becomes  not 
pleasant  to  look  upon.  The  shadow  of  an  angry 
scowl  falls  upon  it,  and  the  swarthy  features 
darken  with  evil  omen.  Deep  in  his  throat  rum 
bles  a  litany  of  Calabrian  curses.  If  Mr.  Dan 
forth  is  the  cause  of  this  change  he  had  better  look 
to  himself.  There  is  loose  gunpowder  in  Pas 
quale's  nature,  and  Murdock  is  teaching  him  to 
play  with  fire. 

As  the  minister  was  leaving  Dorothy  at  the 
Wakefield  gate  that  night,  the  girl  said  in  a  voice 
that  was  not  without  traces  of  agitation :  "  Mr. 
Danforth,  you  have  warned  me  before  about  Pas- 
quale  Ciasca ;  but  I  have  laughed  the  matter  away, 
not  wishing  to  lose  a  bright  pupil,  especially  as 
he  is  in  such  danger  from  his  associates.  Now, 
however,  I  must  acknowledge  that  you  understood 
him  better  than  I.  I  shall  make  no  further  objec 
tion  to  your  dismissing  him." 

Danforth  answered  that  he  felt  greatly  relieved 
that  Miss  Wakefield  had  come  to  this  decision, 
and  said  that  Pasquale  had  attended  her  class  for 
the  last  time. 


70  THE  PRIEST 

Five  minutes  later,  as  the  minister  was  ascend 
ing  the  steps  of  his  house,  a  large  stone  was  hurled 
close  to  his  head  and  crashed  through  the  glass 
panel  of  the  door.  Danforth's  lip  curled  in  a 
grim,  stern  smile.  "  This  is  only  the  beginning," 
he  said. 


VII 

Father  Hanlon  procured  the  town-hall  for  an 
indefinite  period  for  his  Sunday  services,  despite 
the  indignant  protest  of  Squire  Wakefield.  A 
temporary  altar,  easily  set  up  and  as  easily  re 
moved,  was  put  together  upon  the  stage,  and  on 
the  young  pastor's  first  Sunday  in  Axton,  he  made 
official  acquaintance  with  his  congregation.  Matt. 
Kiley  had  gone  through  the  parish  with  the  an 
nouncement  of  services,  accompanied  with  elo 
quent  praises  of  Father  Hanlon's  marvelous  learn 
ing  and  "  cleverness."  "  Cleverness  "  was  Matt.'s 
supreme  word,  the  last  gasp  of  an  exhausted  vo 
cabulary  to  express  the  combination  of  mighty 
genius  and  heroic  sanctity.  About  a  hundred 
people,  including  nearly  a  score  of  children,  were 
present  in  response  to  the  exhortations  of  the  new 
sexton  who  was  not  inaptly  named  for  an  Apostle. 
Five  in  the  congregation  were  Italians,  all  women. 
Well  toward  the  front  sat  Miss  Wakefield. 

Father  Hanlon's  initial  sermon  was  simple, 
winning,  and  impressive.  His  sympathetic  nature 
and  deep  spirituality  gave  his  words  swift  con 
veyance  from  ear  to  heart.  Only  as  an  after 
thought  had  any  of  his  hearers  ever  commented 
on  the  rhetorical  features  of  his  discourses.  He 
spoke  too  straight  to  souls  for  that.  On  this 
morning  he  gave  voice  to  thanksgiving  to  God  in 

behalf  of  his  people  for  the  grace  that  had  come 

71 


72  THE  PRIEST 

to  Axton  in  the  offering  of  the  Sacrifice  of  the 
Mass.  He  reminded  the  congregation  that  though 
they  were  a  little  flock  and  poor  in  earthly  advan 
tages,  they  belonged  to  the  mighty  church  of  his 
tory  ;  the  church  which  was  already  venerable  with 
immemorial  age  when  the  sects  that  to-day  dis 
pute  her  claims  were  born.  Of  this  great  mother 
they  must  be  proud.  The  whole  world  should  be 
proud  of  her,  since  it  owed  to  her  civilization  and 
learning  as  well  as  the  knowledge  of  the  Christian 
faith.  But  this  debt  modern  men  had  forgotten, 
or  knew  not  of,  and  therefore  their  contempt  of 
her.  Only  for  ignorance  the  world  to-day  would 
return  to  Catholicity ;  ignorance  of  her  claims,  her 
sanctity,  her  history.  The  priest  closed  by  say 
ing  that  in  order  to  give  his  parishioners  a  better 
knowledge  of  their  faith,  he  would  begin  on  the 
following  Sunday  a  course  of  sermons  on  the 
marks  of  Christ's  true  Church,  and  would  show 
that  these  marks  belong  to  Catholicism  alone. 

All  this  was  spoken  with  no  shadow  of  arro 
gance.  Clearly  Ambrose  Hanlon's  conviction  was 
rooted  in  sincerity  that  his  form  of  faith  was 
necessary  for  the  salvation  of  men,  and  that  its 
intellectual  basis  was  solid  beyond  peril.  While  he 
was  reading  the  Post-communion  after  he  had  fin 
ished  speaking,  the  thought  flashed  upon  his  mind 
that  Josiah  Danforth  was  not  ignorant  of  Chris 
tian,  and  very  probably  of  Catholic  theology,  and 
yet  he  was  a  Unitarian,  the  furthest  possible  dis 
tance  from  Catholicity.  A  moment's  disturbance 


THE  PRIEST  73 

came  with  the  thought,  but  it  soon  passed  away, 
and  left  Father  Hanlon's  soul  in  the  peace  and 
pride  of  undoubting  faith.  Danforth  had  not  re 
ceived  "  the  gift  of  faith,"  that  was  all. 

That  evening  Father  Hanlon  paid  his  first  visit 
to  Mary  Kiley.  Her  father  had  not  exaggerated 
her  beauty.  As  she  lay  on  her  cot  in  the  neat  par 
lor  of  the  little  cottage,  and  smiled  joyously  as  she 
took  the  young  priest's  hand,  her  face  might  have 
served  well  for  the  Madonna  of  resignation.  Pure 
as  snow  was  that  face,  its  timid  eyes  brown  and 
large;  its  sweet  smile  suggestive  of  both  sanctity 
and  pain. 

"  Dear  Father,"  she  said  in  a  soft  voice ;  "  now 
let  me  say  *  Nunc  dimittis.'  At  last  our  divine 
faith  will  lift  its  head  in  Axton,  and  all  men  will 
see  that  it  is  beautiful." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Father  Hanlon,  "  I  feel 
sure  that  this  grace  has  been  given  to  this  village 
because  of  the  merit  of  your  virtue  and  suffering." 

"  Why,  Father,"  protested  Mary,  and  her  great 
eyes  looked  very  frightened,  "  what  are  you  say 
ing?  If  that  thought  entered  my  vain  mind  how 
should  I  be  saved?  " 

"  Forget  it,  then,"  answered  the  priest ;  "  Go  on 
with  your  holy  prayer  and  holier  pain.  But  the 
rest  of  us  will  have  our  thoughts." 

"  Dorothy  was  telling  me  she  met  you,"  said 
Mary. 

Hanlon's  face  reddened,  for  the  girl's  tone  and 
manner  were  slightly  embarrassed  as  she  spoke. 


74  THE  PRIEST 

Evidently  she  knew  of  his  indiscretion  in  a  Uni 
tarian  minister's  house;  and  that  she  was  some 
what  shocked  he  more  than  expected. 

"  Yes,  I  met  Miss  Wakefield  in  Mr.  Danforth's 
house,"  said  Hanlon.  "  I  called  there  to  thank 
him  for  his  noble  action  at  the  town-meeting.  As 
I  was  about  to  leave,  he,  his  mother,  and  Miss 
Wakefield  were  going  to  start  their  evening  devo 
tions,  and  I  joined  them  on  Mr.  Danforth's  invita 
tion.  I  did  not  want  to  appear  uncivil,  you  know. 
I  am  afraid  you  are  disedified." 

"  I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it  when  Dor 
othy  told  me,"  answered  Mary ;  "  but  I  understand 
it  somewhat  better  now,  I  think.  Dorothy  and  I 
love  each  other  as  sisters.  We  sometimes  pray 
together,  but  I  always  read  the  prayers.  But  to 
let  a  minister  lead  me  in  devotional  exercises  —  I 
should  be  afraid  of  that." 

"  I  felt  bad  about  it  too,"  the  priest  acknowl 
edged,  "  but  circumstances  practically  forced  me 
to  it.  Needless  to  say,  I  would  not  do  it  again. 
Mr.  Danforth  is  an  unusual  sort  of  man." 

"  Very  unusual,"  assented  Mary,  as  anxious  as 
her  visitor  to  change  the  subject.  "  If  only  you 
could  convert  him,  Father  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  promise  of  that  at  present,"  an 
swered  Hanlon.  "  By  the  way,  what  is  Miss 
Wakefield's  religion?" 

"  She  is  a  Unitarian,  and  greatly  devoted  to  Mr. 
Danforth,"  the  girl  responded.  "  But  she  is  a  glo 
rious  girl.  Her  religious  nature  is  deep  and  earn- 


THE  PRIEST  75 

est.  She  has  often  regretted  to  me  that  Uni- 
tarianism  appeals  so  little  to  the  richer  and  more 
ardent  and  emotional  side  of  our  spirit." 

"  Does  she  know  anything  of  Catholicity  ?  " 
asked  the  priest. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mary,  "  she  knows  everything 
about  it  so  far  as  one  outside  can  know  it.  We 
have  gone  over  and  over  again  the  claims  and  doc 
trines  of  the  Church.  Dorothy  sees  the  strong 
points  of  our  faith,  its  logical  scheme  of  belief, 
its  power  to  produce  saintly  lives,  its  poetry  and 
mysticism.  Often  she  has  envied  me  the  posses 
sion  of  so  venerable,  beautiful,  and  sustaining  a 
faith.  But  she  says  she  cannot  yield  merely  to 
her  religious  moods.  Her  intelligence  must  be  sat 
isfied;  and  thus  far  it  is  not  satisfied.  Besides, 
she  has  what  I  think  is  an  undue  love  for  modern 
times  and  the  modern  spirit;  and  she  feels  that 
the  Church  cannot  in  its  present  state  lead  the 
humanity  of  to-day.  Do  what  you  can  for  Dor 
othy,  Father.  She  is  a  Protestant  saint.  If  only 
she  were  in  the  house  of  God,  how  near  to  Christ 
and  His  Blessed  Mother  she  would  be !  " 

"  I  will  do  all  in  my  power,  according  to  my 
opportunities,"  said  Father  Hanlon.  "  But  do 
you,  Mary,  pray  and  suffer  for  her." 

"  Yes,  Father,"  answered  Mary,  "  and  I  will 
pray  and  suffer  for  you." 

The  priest's  heart  was  uplifted  as  he  left  her. 
He  felt  humble  and  joyful.  With  this  dear  child 
interceding  for  him,  how  could  he  fail? 


VIII 

To  study,  to  know,  was  an  ambition  given  a 
fresh  stimulus  in  Ambrose  Hanlon's  breast 
through  that  interview  with  Mr.  Danforth.  He 
felt  his  incompetence  in  all  positive  and  critical 
sciences.  Speculation  in  the  field  of  metaphysi 
cal  theology  he  had  cultivated;  but  the  facts  in 
the  history  of  theology,  the  facts  in  church 
history,  the  facts  in  criticism,  with  these  he  was 
miserably  unfamiliar.  Now  for  the  first  time  he 
perceived  the  enormous  value  of  the  science  of 
facts.  Not  that  he  therefore  despised  the  science 
of  syllogisms  or  questioned  its  validity  as  sys 
tematized  by  Thomas  of  Aquin.  But  the  whole 
modern  world  was  abandoning  the  high  region 
of  speculation  and  was  digging  into  the  rugged 
soil  of  reality  for  facts.  It  had  put  these  facts 
together;  it  had  drawn  its  religion  from  them;  it 
was  using  projectiles  made  from  them  to  assail 
the  fortress  of  the  Church.  This  the  conver 
sation  with  Danforth  had  revealed  to  him.  He 
saw  that  if  he  were  to  meet  men  like  Danforth 
on  their  own  ground  all  his  knowledge  about 
angels,  and  processions  in  the  Trinity,  would  be 
useless.  These  men  no  longer  understood  that 
language.  For  the  Church's  sake  he  must  master 
criticism  and  modern  methods  of  research,  and 
then  show  that  these  are  not  only  not  irrecon 
cilable  with  the  ancient  dogmas,  but  support  and 
prove  them. 

76 


THE  PRIEST  77 

Over  and  above  this,  Danforth  had  humiliated 
him.  He,  a  Roman  Doctor,  had  been  unable  to 
carry  on  a  learned  conversation  with  a  Unitarian 
minister  on  matters  that  the  whole  world  of  schol 
arship  was  thinking  about.  It  was  disgraceful, 
and  he  felt  it  keenly.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  uttered  criticisms  —  to  himself  only  —  of  his 
teachers.  Why  had  they  kept  him  in  ignorance  of 
positive  theological  erudition?  Six  years  spent 
in  studying  theology,  and  he  knew  the  tenets  of 
Valentinian  and  Theodore  of  Mopsuestia,  but  not 
those  of  Harnack  and  Holtzmann!  He  could 
show  that  Boethius'  definition  of  Person  was  not 
irreconcilable  with  the  Incarnation,  but  was  utterly 
in  the  dark  while  Danforth  was  talking  about  the 
"  We-sections  "  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles. 

There  would  be  an  end  to  this  condition  of  af 
fairs,  he  sternly  resolved.  Confident  of  his  abil 
ity,  and  foreseeing  that  he  would  have  leisure  in 
plenty,  he  reveled  in  the  delightful  anticipation  of 
his  studies.  How  glorious  would  be  his  long 
mornings  and  his  solitary  evenings  with  books, 
with  the  mind  of  the  modern  world !  And  in  sum 
mer  he  would  go  into  the  woods  with  a  learned  vol 
ume,  and  beneath  the  trees  or  beside  a  laughing 
brook  he  would  delve  into  modern  wisdom,  and 
find  for  himself  what  claim  these  critics  have  to  the 
reverence  of  unbelievers.  How  kind,  after  all, 
was  Providence  in  sending  him  to  Axton! 

His  second  call  on  Danforth,  made  for  the  pur 
pose  of  borrowing  books,  was  on  the  first  evening 


78  THE  PRIEST 

that  he  knew  the  minister  would  be  at  home.  He 
was  received  with  fraternal  cordiality.  Danforth 
liked  him,  that  was  evident. 

"  Mr.  Danforth,"  said  Hanlon,  "  I  have  come 
for  some  books.  You  have  shown  me  that  scholas 
tic  theology  is  not  the  sum  and  total  of  the  learn 
ing  that  a  man  who  is  supposed  to  be  scholarly 
should  possess,  and  I'm  going  to  begin  a  course 
of  critical  study.  If  you  will  take  me  as  a  pupil, 
I  would  wish  no  other  man  as  teacher." 

"  Father  Hanlon,"  was  the  minister's  joyous 
response,  "  I  am  not  only  delighted  but  edified.  It 
is  Truth  that  has  caught  hold  of  you,  my  brother, 
and  you  are  proving  yourself  her  docile  disciple. 
Poor  amateur  as  I  am  in  the  great  world  of  schol 
arship,  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  serve  you." 

"  I  want  to  understand  biblical  criticism,"  said 
Hanlon ;  "  now  give  me  a  start." 

Danforth  settled  farther  back  into  his  chair, 
and  his  face  suddenly  grew  grave. 

"  Friend  Ambrose,"  he  began,  after  a  long 
pause ;  "  by  the  way,  let's  drop  formalities.  You 
are  Ambrose  to  me,  and  I  am  Jo  to  you  —  Jo  is 
short  for  Josiah.  Well,  then,  let  me  suggest  that 
you  are  about  to  enter  on  studies  which  may  mod 
ify  your  religious  views;  which  may,  in  fact, 
bring  you  face  to  face  with  a  crisis." 

Father  Hanlon  smiled.  "  I  have  no  fears  for 
my  faith  or  my  church,"  he  said.  "  Both  in  my 
estimation  are  established  in  too  solid  a  rock  to 
be  blown  away  by  the  winds  of  new  doctrine." 


THE  PRIEST  79 

Danforth  bowed.  "  My  advice  then  is,"  he  sug 
gested,  "  that  before  reading  any  critical  work, 
you  run  through  a  small  volume  I  have  here  on 
'  The  Intellectual  and  Spiritual  Dispositions  of  a 
Christian  Student.'  It  is  not  a  published  work, 
but  consists  of  three  lectures  delivered  by  an  old 
teacher  of  mine  at  Cambridge.  He  was  one  of 
God's  noblemen;  and  this  book  of  his  should  be 
read  I  think,  by  everyone  that  sets  his  mind 
toward  Truth." 

The  priest  looked  disappointed. 

"  The  reason,"  continued  Danforth,  "  why  I 
recommend  this  little  volume  is  this.  The  prob 
lem  of  Truth,  the  problem  of  criticism,  the  prob 
lem  of  religion,  are  not  so  much  intellectual  as 
ethical.  What  state  of  mind  we  bring  to  our 
studies  is  a  vastly  more  important  matter  than 
the  extent  of  our  studies.  Intellectual  honor,  in 
tellectual  chastity,  as  a  great  scholar  of  your 
church  beautifully  expressed  it,  is  one  of  the  rarest 
virtues  in  this  world.  Most  of  us  are  sophisti 
cated  by  prepossessions.  We  are  apt  to  study 
not  to  discover  divine  Truth,  but  to  pile  up  sup 
ports  for  our  selfish  systems.  Many  a  learned 
man  who  would  not  tell  a  verbal  lie,  is  committing 
mental  falsehood  all  day  long.  These  lectures 
deal  with  this  feature  of  study,  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  like  them.  You  have  studied  the  tract  De 
Mendacio  in  your  moral  theology.  If  I  am  not 
mistaken,  you  will  find  here  some  valuable  ideas 
on  certain  little-known  subtleties  of  falsehood." 


80  THE  PRIEST 

"  I  will  read  the  book,  since  you  so  highly  praise 
it,"  said  Hanlon.  "  By  the  way,  you  seem  to  know 
a  good  deal  about  Catholic  theology." 

"  I  am  not  wholly  unfamiliar  with  it,"  acknowl 
edged  Danforth.  "  I  have  been  through  most  of 
St.  Thomas;  and  I  once  informed  myself  upon 
your  moral  system  by  a  fairly  thorough  reading 
of  Alphonsus  Liguori.  But  I  know  your  mysti 
cal  writers  best  of  all.  My  inclination  for  this 
species  of  literature  I  inherited  from  my  Quaker 
mother.  The  old  Benedictine  writers  are  magnifi 
cent.  But  —  if  you  will  pardon  me  —  the  Jesuits 
have  ruined  Catholic  spirituality." 

"  The  Jesuits !  "  exclaimed  Hanlon ;  "  what  in 
the  world  can  you  mean?  " 

"  The  old  monastic  mystics,"  answered  Dan 
forth,  "  taught  a  glorious  interior  liberty,  and 
pure  spiritual  prayer.  The  Jesuits  externalized 
spirituality.  With  their  exaggerated,  and  to  my 
mind,  immoral,  insistence,  on  obedience,  they 
check  the  growth  of  personality  and  prevent  the 
free  development  of  the  individual  soul.  For  the 
normal,  natural  inner  liberty  taught  by  the  ancient 
mystics,  they  substitute  grosser  forms  of  devo 
tion.  They  are  the  foremost  advocates  of  devo 
tion  by  arithmetic,  novenas  and  the  rest;  and  of 
devotion  in  forms  of  revolting  materialism  — 
Christ's  physical  heart,  Mary's  heart,  and  so  on. 
There  is  no  sublimity  in  their  spiritual  literature. 
The  same  tawdriness,  stiffness,  and  vulgarity  ap 
pear  in  their  architecture ;  they  ruined  that  also." 


THE  PRIEST  81 

Father  Hanlon,  trained  only  in  Jesuit  methods, 
knew  scarcely  anything  of  Benedictine  literature. 
Humiliated  at  his  inability  to  meet  this  remark 
able  minister  even  upon  Catholic  subjects,  he  said 
nothing  for  a  full  minute  of  embarrassment. 
Then,  conscious  of  how  weak  he  was  appearing,  he 
ventured : 

"  I  hope  you  admire  the  genius  of  St.  Alphon- 
sus.  I  think  he  is  the  St.  Thomas  of  moral  theol 
ogy." 

"  No,"  answered  Danforth ;  "  I  almost  detest 
him.  Dear  Ambrose,  you  will  excuse  my  candor; 
but  without  candor  the  world  would  be  a  sham. 
We  understand  each  other  now  too  well  to  be 
offended  by  sincere  plain-speaking.  No,  I  do  not 
like  Liguori.  Why,  if  one  followed  his  treatise 
on  lying,  one  would  become  the  meanest  of  trick 
sters.  His  theory  of  mental  reservations  is  so 
awful  an  offense  against  truth  as  to  appear  to  me 
almost  sacrilegious.  That  he  was  an  industrious 
compiler  is  true  of  course.  But  he  is  destitute  of 
genius;  and  did  not  know  what  an  unbiased  mind 
means.  Of  how  low  an  order  of  special  pleading 
is  his  book  on  the  papacy !  Then  he  was  abnormal 
all  through.  Do  you  think  a  man  who  lashed  and 
tortured  himself  as  Liguori  did;  who  had  so  un 
wholesome  an  obsession  about  temptation;  who 
was  so  diseased  with  scruples;  do  you  think  such 
a  man  could  have  been  mentally  balanced?  You 
recall  that  in  his  advanced  old  age,  when  he  was 
nearly  ninety  in  fact,  he  dreaded  going  out  upon 


82  THE  PRIEST 

the  street  lest  he  see  something  that  would  excite 
sensuality.  All  this  I  say  while  heartily  acknowl 
edging  his  humility,  piety  and  zeal." 

Father  Hanlon  had  read  the  works  of  Liguori, 
but  only  as  writings  to  be  blindly  followed,  not 
keenly  criticized ;  and  as  for  the  features  of  his  bio 
graphy  mentioned  by  Danforth,  he  was  entirely 
unfamiliar  with  them.  The  hagiography  per 
mitted  in  the  seminary  contained  no  such  disedi- 
fying  incidents.  He  shifted  the  discussion  there 
fore  by  saying : 

"  No  Catholic  may  entertain  such  an  opinion 
of  St.  Alphonsus.  The  Church  has  solemnly  de 
cided  that  he  is  in  all  things  a  safe  moralist.  No 
other  moral  author  has  received  so  high  an  en 
comium  as  Pius  IX  gives  Alphonsus." 

"  But  you  cannot  tolerate  his  theory  of  mental 
reservation?  "  questioned  Danforth,  with  painful 
earnestness.' 

"  Moral  theology  is  not  a  code  of  highest  con 
duct,"  answered  the  priest.  "  It  lays  down  the 
minimum  not  the  maximum  of  ethical  integrity." 

"  True  enough,"  said  Danforth ;  "  but  the 
trouble  with  such  teachings  as  those  of  Liguori  on 
lying  and  with  some  of  his  opinions  on  theft,  is  this : 
they  are  not  applied  by  the  sinner  but  by  the  con 
fessor,  the  very  guardian  of  morals.  He  must  give 
the  penitent  the  benefit  of  them  officially  and  sacra- 
mentally.  Thus  laxity  is  fixed  and  perpetuated 
in  the  very  source  of  the  Catholic  moral  law.  If 
for  example,  I  go  out  at  night  to  burn  down  your 


THE  PRIEST  88 

house,  and  by  mistake  I  burn  down  your  neigh 
bor's,  the  confessor,  according  to  Liguori,  cannot 
bind  me,  scoundrel  though  I  should  be,  to  restitu 
tion.  Isn't  that  .abominable  ?" 

"  I  must  say,"  confessed  Hanlon,  "  that  this 
opinion  you  have  just  cited  has  always  offended 
me." 

"  The  great  trouble  with  moral  theologians," 
said  Danforth,  "  is  that  they  so  often  misplace  the 
basis  of  morality.  Instead  of  placing  it  in  the 
inner  character  they  place  it  in  external  law.  In 
stead  of  listening  to  the  simple  dictate  of  unso 
phisticated  conscience,  they  regard  too  much  the 
subtleties  of  a  flexible  written  code." 

"  Authority  comes  first  with  a  Catholic,"  as 
serted  Hanlon. 

"  External  authority  is  an  extremely  dangerous 
thing,"  the  minister  responded.  "  If  authority 
dispenses  with  the  free  examination  of  reason,  and 
supersedes  the  enlightened  exercise  of  the  individ 
ual  conscience,  it  is  an  awful  thing,  the  worst  pos 
sible  obstacle  to  the  progress  of  mankind." 

"  We  stand  at  opposite  poles,"  the  priest  said, 
smiling ;  "  and  the  whole  world  is  between  us.  I 
am  for  the  submission  of  individuality  to  author 
ity  ;  you  for  the  reverse." 

"  Toward  which  of  our  positions  is  the  world 
moving?  "  Danforth  asked. 

"  That  is  a  question  the  answer  to  which  would 
not  affect  me  in  the  least,"  was  the  confidently 
spoken  answer. 


84  THE  PRIEST 

"  Well,"  said  Danf  orth ;  "  as  I  told  you  the  other 
night,  personality  is  life  to  me.  To  suppress  that 
personality  is  the  chief  of  crimes." 

"  But  free  personality  is  full  of  vagaries  and 
absurdities,"  objected  the  priest ;  "  does  it  not  need 
control?  Is  it  not  dangerous?" 

"  Dangerous  ?  "  repeated  Danf  orth.  "  It  cer 
tainly  is.  So  is  intellect ;  so  is  free-will ;  so  is  life. 
But  the  danger  is  the  inevitable  condition  of  prog 
ress.  It  will  be  corrected  and  averted  by  the  es 
sential  soundness  of  human  nature.  The  dangers 
of  free  personality  look  toward  larger  life.  The 
dangers  of  excessive  authority  look  toward  stag 
nation  and  death." 

"  This  has  been  a  stimulating  conversation," 
said  the  priest,  rising.  "  I  hope  we  shall  have 
many  such  discussions." 

"  By  all  means  we  shall,"  assented  the  minister. 
"  Only  by  exercise  can  either  mind  or  muscles  grow. 
Here  is  the  volume  I  mentioned;  and  you  may  do 
well  to  take  along  with  it  these  three  books  on  the 
present  state  of  Old  Testament  criticism  and  the 
development  of  Hebrew  religion." 

Mr.  Cuttle  noticed  that  his  clerical  guest  as 
he  entered  the  hotel  that  night,  was  very  much 
preoccupied,  hardly  noticing  the  inn-keeper's  salu 
tation.  In  a  few  minutes  Father  Hanlon  came 
down  stairs,  with  two  thick  volumes  in  his  hand. 

"  Mr.  Cuttle,"  he  said ;  "  please  do  me  the  favor 
of  putting  these  books  in  the  furnace  when  you 
attend  to  your  fire  to-morrow  morning.  They  are 


THE  PRIEST  85 

of  no  use  to  anybody.     You  will  do  this  for  me?  " 

Nahum  Cuttle  made  no  answer,  but  looked  with 
a  sorely  puzzled  face,  now  at  the  priest,  now  at 
the  devoted  volumes. 

"  I  swan,  this  beats  me,"  he  finally  said. 

"  I  suppose  it  looks  queer,"  said  Father  Hanlon 
with  a  grim  smile ;  "  but  as  I  told  you,  these  books 
are  worthless  and  are  taking  up  room  which  I 
need  for  other  purposes.  They  are  simply  lumber, 
and  if  they  help  your  furnace  fire,  it  is  probably 
the  best  service  they  ever  did.  I  assure  you  they 
are  dry  enough  to  burn  well." 

"Wall,"  continued  Nahum  at  length;  "I'm 
stumped  if  I  ever  see  books  pitched  into  the  fire 
before;  but  as  they  belong  to  you  it's  none  of  my 
business,  and  I'll  burn  'em  if  you  say  so." 

The  priest  left  the  man  when  this  point  had 
been  settled,  and  Nahum  stood  gazing  at  the  two 
books  left  in  his  hand  for  a  holocaust.  Curiously 
he  inspected  every  inch  of  the  outside  of  them, 
spending  some  moments  in  a  vain  endeavor  to 
decipher  the  title  which  was  printed  on  a  faded  red 
band  on  the  back,  and  at  last  he  placed  one  volume 
between  his  knees,  as  in  a  vise,  and  cautiously 
opened  the  other.  His  baffled  eyes  beheld  the  fol 
lowing  inscription  in  big  black  capitals  on  the  title 
page: 

VEN    PATRIS    FRANCISCI    SUAREZII 

E    SOCIETATE    JESU    SACERDOTIS, 

DE     ANGELIS    DEQUE     ANGELICIS    OPERATIONOBUS 

TRACTATUS. 

CUM    PERMISSU    SUPERIORUM    ET    REGIO    APPROBATU 
MDCCXII. 


86  THE  PRIEST 

Hiram  gazed  at  this  legend  a  long  time.  Then 
very  deliberately  he  closed  the  book,  put  both 
volumes  under  his  arm,  and  with  sundry  head- 
shakings  slowly  descended  to  the  furnace  room. 
Thus  fell  the  mighty  Suarez  and  his  famous  trac 
tate  on  the  Angels  from  the  pedestal  whereon  Am 
brose  Hanlon,  Roman  doctor  of  divinity,  had  once 
placed  them.  As  the  ponderous  pages  curled  and 
quivered,  and  fell  to  ashes  in  the  flames,  the  priest, 
careless  of  their  fate,  was  seated  in  his  study,  open 
ing  a  book  of  introduction  to  higher  criticism. 


IX 

One  evening  a  week  after  the  incidents  of  the 
last  chapter,  Dorothy  Wakefield  was  sitting  with 
Mrs.  Danforth,  preparing  with  skilful  fingers  cer 
tain  decorations  that  were  to  be  used  in  an  Easter 
festival  for  the  children. 

"  Josiah  is  more  than  usually  preoccupied  of 
late,"  Mrs.  Danforth  was  saying.  "  He  spends 
whole  days  in  his  study,  and  I  see  but  little  of  him. 
I  trust  that  he  is  not  in  trouble,  Dorothy." 

"  I  know  of  no  reason  for  his  worrying,"  the 
girl  answered.  "  The  dismissal  of  Pasquale  Ciasca 
from  the  school  was  unpleasant;  for  the  Italian 
was  furiously  angry  when  told  to  go.  But  I  hope 
that  nothing  serious  will  come  of  it." 

"  My  son  has  enemies,"  Mrs.  Danforth  said ; 
"  and  I  foresee  much  distress  for  the  poor  boy." 

"  But,  Mother,"  protested  Dorothy,  who  was  ac 
customed  to  use  that  endearing  address ;  "  he  does 
not  care  for  that,  and  I  am  sure  his  beautiful  de 
votion  will  win  over  those  that  now  oppose  him. 
His  danger  is  not  from  others,  but  from  himself. 
He  will  overwork  if  he  is  not  checked  by  someone. 
He  has  absolutely  no  human  interests  except  his 
work,  his  study  —  and — "  there  was  wistfulness 
in  Dorothy's  voice  — "  and  you." 

"  I  wish  he  had  a  greater  regard  for  the  domes 
tic  side  of  life,"  agreed  Mrs.  Danforth.  "  He 
ought  to  marry.  Every  noble  man  should  marry. 

87 


88  THE  PRIEST 

It  is  from  the  homes  of  such  that  the  leaders  of 
humanity  must  come." 

Dorothy  was  silent,  and  as  she  bent  over  her 
work,  the  beautiful  eyes  of  the  old  Quakeress  rested 
upon  her  tenderly. 

Before  either  spoke  again,  the  door  was  flung 
open  and  Danforth  stepped  briskly  into  the  room. 
He  was  in  a  state  of  joyous  excitement;  his  eyes 
shone  with  enthusiasm,  a  faint  glow  had  crept  into 
his  pale  cheeks,  his  face  was  radiant  with  a  smile 
of  great  happiness. 

"  Listen  to  me,  women,"  he  cried,  striking  a 
mock-heroic  attitude,  "  while  I  a  tale  unfold,  the 
greatest  scheme  that  ever  was  on  land  or  sea.  I'm 
going  to  start  a  new  national  society.  I,  the 
obscure  minister  of  this  forlorn  town  of  Axton, 
am  going  to  take  wing  from  my  Massachusetts 
hamlet  till  I  dip  my  pinions  in  the  Pacific  Ocean 
and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico !  " 

His  mother  smiled.  "  A  boy  forever !  "  she  mur 
mured. 

"  So  you  have  invented  an  airship,"  laughed 
Dorothy. 

"  I'm  up  in  an  airship  just  now,"  said  Danforth, 
dropping  into  a  chair,  "  and  woe  to  the  woman  that 
tries  to  call  me  back  to  earth !  " 

"  Once  there  was  a  man  named  Darius  Green," 
his  mother  remarked. 

"Mother,  you  are  anathema!"  cried  her  son. 
"  Now  tell  me,  are  you  prepared  to  go  up  in  an 
airship  with  me,  or  are  you  going  to  keep  on  call- 


THE  PRIEST  89 

ing  me  Darius  Green?  I've  got  a  plan  that  pru 
dence,  caution,  conservatism,  and  all  earth-plodders 
will  laugh  at;  but  enthusiasm  will  jump  into  the 
basket,  cut  the  ropes,  and  be  off  towards  heaven 
in  a  jiffy.  Which  are  you,  earth-plodders?  Then 
back  I  go  to  my  study  without  another  word. 
Airship  travelers?  Then  will  I  speak." 

"  Speak  on,"  commanded  Dorothy ;  "  to  heaven 
of  all  places  the  pastor  should  be  followed  by  his 
flock.  We  are  with  you  among  the  stars." 

"  Good !  "  said  Danforth.  "  Then  here  is  my 
venture.  As  I  understand  the  American  Republic, 
it  teaches  mankind  an  absolutely  new  kind  of  patri 
otism.  Patriotism  as  immemorially  understood  is 
simply  the  blind  attachment  of  the  animal  to  the 
herd,  of  the  savage  to  his  tribe,  of  the  serf  to  his 
clan.  There's  nothing  spiritual  in  it.  It  is  a  mix 
ture  of  pride,  cupidity,  jealousy,  revenge  and  ab 
original  gregariousness.  It  represents  a  set  of 
ideas  that  civilized  men  cannot  possibly  love,  and 
cannot  possibly  die  for,  except  under  compulsion. 
That  is  point  number  one.  Point  number  two  is 
that  our  country  and  our  flag  have  totally  trans 
formed  the  patriotic  sentiment,  have  changed  it 
from  its  very  source  and  origin,  and  have  lifted 
it  into  the  region  of  the  spirit,  into  the  realm  of 
religion.  Our  country,  based  upon  the  principle 
of  the  essential  goodness  of  human  nature,  and 
existing  for  the  purpose  of  developing  free  per 
sonality  to  the  utmost,  simply  consecrates  patrio 
tism,  makes  it  sacred  and  divine.  Love  of  country 


90  THE  PRIEST 

with  us  ought  to  be  not  the  unreasoning  loyalty  of 
a  dog  to  any  kind  of  master,  but  the  sublime  de 
votion  of  ourselves  to  mankind,  to  liberty,  to  prog 
ress,  to  the  immortal  spirit  of  man.  All  these 
ideals  are  inseparable  from  America.  America  was 
born  beneath  their  star.  She  committed  herself  to 
the  magnificent  venture  of  her  democracy  because 
of  them.  While  she  prospers  they  will  prosper. 
If  she  dies  they  will  sink  inta  darkness  until  another 
America  shall  be  born.  Now  for  point  number 
three.  It  follows  from  all  this  that  only  that  man 
is  a  true  and  intelligent  American  patriot  who 
cultivates  the  spiritual  qualities  of  developed  man 
hood  which  his  country  essentially  represents. 
But  the  cultivation  of  spiritual  qualities  is  neces 
sarily  religious.  Let  Americans  understand  that 
their  patriotism  is  sacred  and  their  religion  patri 
otic,  and  what  a  glorious  nation  we  should  have! 
Do  you  follow  me  ?  " 

"  This  is  not  an  airship,"  answered  Dorothy, 
"  but  an  Elijah's  chariot." 

"  A  beautiful  compliment,  Dorothy,  and  I  thank 
you  for  it,"  returned  Danforth.  "  Well,  why  not 
do  something,"  he  continued,  "  to  spread  this  con 
secrated  idea  of  patriotism?  There  are  alarming 
signs  of  national  peril  in  the  sky  above  us.  Ideals 
are  threatened.  The  eternal  and  spiritual  side  of 
life  is  menaced.  We  are  forgetting  our  fathers' 
prayers  and  hopes.  Can  we  not  set  this  country 
on  fire  " —  here  Danforth  rose  from  his  chair  and 
walked  nervously  up  and  down  the  room  — "  can 


THE  PRIEST  91 

we  not  set  this  country  on  fire  with  patriotism, 
a  new  patriotism,  a  patriotism  that  knows  how 
to  pray,  that  will  count  violation  of  conscience 
as  infidelity  to  country  ?  Thinking  of  these  things 
I  have  determined  to  do  what  I  can  towards  so 
holy  an  end.  As  a  beginning  I  am  going  to  found 
a  society  called  the  League  of  Conscience  and 
Country.  Its  purpose  will  be  to  inculcate  this 
higher  patriotism;  its  watchword  will  be  Service; 
its  motto :  *  Obedience  to  God  and  loyalty  to  coun 
try  are  one  and  inseparable.'  " 

Danforth  sat  down  and  there  was  silence  for  a 
minute. 

"  My  son,"  said  his  mother  at  length,  "  it  first 
occurred  to  me  to  ask  thee  if  thou  hadst  suffi 
ciently  consulted  thy  health  and  the  duties  already 
required  of  thee.  But  I  will  not  mention  this.  I 
only  say:  May  the  divine  Spirit  abide  with  thee, 
strengthen  and  sanctify  thee." 

Danforth  rose  and  kissed  her. 

"  Blessed  art  thou  among  women,"  he  said. 

"  I  can  say  nothing  now,"  was  Dorothy's  re 
sponse  to  the  young  minister's  questioning  look; 
"  my  heart  is  too  full.  I  can  only  add  my  prayer 
to  your  mother's." 

"  You  are  both  as  kind  and  as  encouraging  as 
you  can  be,"  said  Danforth.  "  All  my  wicked  sus 
picions  that  you  might  be  earth-plodders,  I  now 
and  forever  revoke  and  disavow.  And  now  I  shall 
go  back  to  my  study,  and  you  may  discuss  my 
project  to  your  hearts'  content.  I  know  you  are 


92 

going  to  say  nice  things  of  me,  and  I  want  to  be  out 
of  hearing." 

Pausing  on  the  threshold,  Danforth  turned  to 
his  mother  and  Dorothy  and  recited  these  stanzas 
of  Emerson's  Concord  ode : 

"  For  He  that  flung  the  broad  blue  fold 

O'ermantling  land  and  sea 
One  third  part  of  the  sky  unrolled 

For  the  banner  of  the  free. 

United  States !  the  ages  plead, 

Present  and  Past  in  undersong  — 

Go,  put  your  creed  into  your  deed, 
Nor  speak  with  double  tongue. 

Be  just  at  home;  then  write  your  scroll 

Of  honor  o'er  the  sea; 
And  bid  the  broad  Atlantic  roll 

A  ferry  of  the  free. 

And  henceforth  there  shall  be  no  chain, 

Save  underneath  the  sea 
The  wires  shall  murmur  through  the  main 

Sweet  songs  of  liberty. 

For  He  that  worketh  high  and  wise 

Nor  pauses  in  His  plan, 
Will  take  the  sun  out  of  the  skies 

Ere  freedom  out  of  man." 

"  Dorothy,"  said  his  mother  when  he  had  gone ; 
"  may  I  not  be  proud  of  him?  " 

"Proud  of  him?"  repeated  the  girl.  "Why 
the  angels  in  heaven  are  proud  of  him." 


THE  PRIEST  98 

They  said  no  more  for  a  long  time.  When  Mrs. 
Danforth  spoke  again  it  was  upon  some  trivial 
and  irrelevant  matter.  She  had  seen  the  great 
tears  fall  upon  Dorothy's  fingers  as  they  worked. 


One  morning  in  the  latter  part  of  April,  Father 
Hanlon  sat  at  his  desk  drawing  upon  a  sheet  of 
paper  parallel  columns  containing  the  reasons  for 
and  against  the  Mosaic  authorship  of  the  Penta 
teuch.  Having  finished  the  process,  he  threw  down 
his  pen,  and  after  the  manner  of  most  students, 
began  soliloquizing.  Let  us  overhear  him. 

"  It  is  simply  impossible  that  this  great  structure 
of  Mosaic  law  should  have  been  the  product  of 
one  man  or  one  age.  Think  of  Moses  in  the  wild 
Arabian  desert  laying  down  the  exact  measure 
ments  of  a  temple  not  built  till  three  centuries  later ! 
Think  of  him  describing  the  dress  of  the  temple 
priests,  legislating  for  tithes,  offerings  and  purifi 
cations  which  were  still  hundreds  of  years  in  the 
future!  If  such  a  revelation  were  given  him,  it 
would  have  been  absolutely  unintelligible  to  him, 
and  to  the  poor  clans  of  exiles  about  him.  Then 
there  are  David  and  Solomon,  wholly  ignorant  of 
Moses*  command  that  sacrifice  be  offered  nowhere 
except  in  Jerusalem;  for  they  and  the  whole  line 
of  Judges  before  them,  sanctioned  sacrifices  in 
divers  parts  of  Israel.  Clearly  these  Jehovah- 
worshippers  had  never  heard  of  the  pretended 
Jehovah-law  as  to  one  sanctuary  and  one  sacrifice. 
Manifestly  the  law  is  a  bulwark  of  a  later  age  built 
to  centralize  Israel's  religion,  and  thus  save  it  from 
the  danger  which  very  nearly  destroyed  it  —  amal 
gamation  with  the  idolatrous  worships  of  Canaan. 

94 


THE  PRIEST  95 

"  And  look  at  the  character  of  some  of  the  pre 
tended  revelations !  Did  the  infinite  Deity  speak 
out  of  heaven  these  laws  about  the  fringes  of  gar 
ments  ;  about  curing  a  house  of  leprosy ;  and  that 
revolting  ordeal  of  a  suspected  woman  as  described 
in  Numbers?  Never  again  can  I  believe  that.  If 
the  Deity  made  any  specific  revelations  to  Moses, 
I  think  He  would  hardly  have  descended  to  such 
puerilities,  and  said  nothing  of  the  immortality 
of  the  soul  —  a  truth  of  which  the  early  Hebrews 
were  ignorant  in  any  ethical  sense.  For  their  Sheol 
was  an  indiscriminate  assembly-place  of  the  dead 
where  no  retribution  or  recompense  existed. 

"  Of  course  all  this  does  not  affect  the  authority 
of  the  Church,  though  I  must  say  I  wish  she  had 
discovered  this  true  import  of  primitive  Judaism 
rather  than  that  modern  higher  criticism  should 
have  first  taught  it." 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  these  reflec 
tions,  and  in  another  moment  Father  Hanlon  was 
bidding  polite  welcome  to  the  Reverend  Joseph 
Dooran. 

"  Well,  Hanlon,  how  are  you  getting  on  ?  "  was 
this  gentleman's  greeting,  uttered  with  that  air  of 
"  I  am  the  lord  of  creation,"  as  Ambrose  used  to 
describe  it. 

"  Very  pleasantly,  indeed,"  answered  Hanlon ; 
"  I  like  Axton  thoroughly." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  been  forced  to  repent  of 
the  liberalism  you  expressed  to  O'Murtagh  and 
myself  last  month,"  stated  Dooran,  not  as  a  ques- 


96  THE  PRIEST 

tion,  but  as  laying  down  an  undeniable  fact. 
"  You  find  your  Puritan  neighbors  pretty  bitter. 
They  can't  get  rid  of  their  ancestral  blood." 

"  I  am  more  convinced  than  ever,"  was  Ambrose's 
quiet  reply,  "that  you  men  are  utterly  in  the 
wrong.  With  very  few  exceptions,  I  find  the  non- 
Catholics  friendly  and  even  cordial.  If  we  were 
somewhat  more  tractable  and  conciliatory  our 
selves,  we  should  get  on  better.  There  are  others 
besides  Puritans  who  find  it  difficult  to  get  rid  of 
their  ancestral  blood." 

"  Absurd !  "  pronounced  Dooran.  "  We  are  con 
ciliatory  enough.  These  men  want  to  destroy  the 
Church.  Do  you  desire  that  the  Church  should 
assist  them  by  laying  her  head  on  the  block?  " 

"  I  think  it  might  be  well  if  some  of  our  rev 
erend,  very  reverend,  right  reverend,  and  most 
reverend  gentlemen,  did  not  hold  their  heads  so 
high  in  the  air,"  answered  Hanlon. 

"  Be  careful,  Hanlon.  Control  your  liberalism 
a  bit  more  prudently ;  it  is  an  evil  hour  for  Catho 
lic  liberals,"  said  Dooran. 

"  By  the  way,"  asked  Ambrose,  "  can  you  tell 
me  why  my  chief  opponents  here  are  not  non- 
Catholics,  but  principally  immigrants  from  Catho 
lic  countries  ?  " 

"  Freemasonry !  "  replied  Dooran  dogmatically. 
"  By  the  way,  Hanlon,  what  is  that  book  you  are 
reading?  " 

Father  Hanlon  answered,  visibly  embarrassed: 
"  Robertson  Smith's  Lectures  on  the  Old  Testa 
ment." 


THE  PRIEST  97 

"  Is  he  one  of  those  higher  critics  ?  "  questioned 
Dooran  suspiciously,  as  he  picked  up  the  book. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Hanlon,  as  he  saw  with  sink 
ing  heart  that  Dooran  was  looking  at  Danforth's 
bookplate  on  the  title  page.  The  next  question  was 
inevitable :  "  Hanlon,  are  you  borrowing  ration 
alistic  books  from  a  Unitarian  minister?  " 

"  Mr.  Danforth  is  my  friend,  and  a  friend  I  am 
proud  to  possess,"  answered  Hanlon.  "  He  is 
lending  me  some  books  on  a  portion  of  theological 
study  in  which  I  am  deficient." 

"  You  are  going  wrong,  my  dear  young  fellow," 
said  the  lord  of  creation.  "  Have  you  been  im 
pressed  with  this  unbeliever's  arguments?  " 

"  He  is  not  an  unbeliever,  Dooran,"  was  Han- 
Ion's  hot  reply.  "  Don't  calumniate.  Even  a  lib 
eral  is  supposed  to  come  under  the  law  of  Christian 
charity.  Robertson  Smith  was  a  noble  Christian 
according  to  his  light.  His  life  was  beautiful  and 
pure.  And  I  don't  mind  admitting  that  I  have 
been  impressed  with  his  arguments." 

Dooran's  next  words  were  entirely  unexpected 
by  Hanlon.  "  May  I  take  the  book  for  a  few 
days?  "  he  asked.  "  I  would  like  to  see  just  how 
flimsy  a  case  these  critics  make  out  for  them 
selves." 

"  I  think  it  is  not  improper  in  me  to  lend  you 
the  book,"  answered  Hanlon.  "  I  know  Mr.  Dan 
forth  would  be  glad  to  have  you  read  it." 

So  the  Reverend  Joseph  Dooran  walked  out  of 
Ambrose  Hanlon's  room  with  Robertson  Smith 
under  his  arm. 


98  THE  PRIEST 

A  week  later  he  burst  into  Hanlon's  room  with 
out  the  formality  of  knocking.  Flushed  with  ex 
citement  and  waving  the  borrowed  volume  in  the 
air,  he  cried : 

"  Hanlon,  it  is  magnificent !  I  never  knew  I  had 
eyes  in  my  head  till  I  read  this  book.  It  is  a  reve 
lation.  It  knocks  our  seminary  course  to  pieces." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Father  Dooran,"  said  Hanlon 
dumbfounded,  "you  take  my  breath  away.  Is 
Saul  among  the  prophets  ?  " 

"  I  have  gone  through  the  book,  Bible  in  hand," 
answered  Dooran,  "  and  I  can  find  no  escape  from 
Smith's  conclusions.  The  evolutionary  process 
through  which  the  Old  Testament  and  Jewish 
religion  have  passed  is  as  certain  to  my  mind  as 
an  axiom  of  geometry.  Lend  me  some  more 
books,  Hanlon,  in  a  hurry." 

Hanlon's  conscience  gave  him  a  pang. 

"  Be  careful  about  this  line  of  reading,  Father 
Dooran,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  I  think  your  con 
version  is  somewhat  violent,  and  there  may  be 
danger  to  faith  not  far  off." 

"  Nonsense ! "  replied  Dooran.  "  Science  is 
science;  fact  is  fact.  If  faith  cannot  endure 
fact  " —  he  ended  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  You  alarm  me,"  protested  Ambrose.  "  No 
amount  of  science  can  ever  weaken  the  Church's 
divine  authority." 

"I  suppose  not,"  returned  Dooran;  "but  just 
now  I  am  after  scholarship.  What  books  are  you 
going  to  give  me?  " 


THE  PRIEST  99 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Dooran  stepped 
up  to  Hanlon's  desk  and  scanned  the  books  scat 
tered  there.  "  These  two  will  suit  me,"  he  said ; 
"  Budde's  *  Religion  of  Israel '  and  Delitzsch's 
*  Babel  and  Bible.'  Good-day,"  and  he  was  gone, 
whistling  gaily  as  he  left. 

Ambrose  stood  still  for  some  time,  looking  grave 
and  troubled.  Then  he  went  to  his  prie-dieu  and 
knelt  in  prayer  that  Father  Dooran  might  keep 
the  faith. 


XI 

Father  Hanlon  had  noticed  that  Miss  Wakefield 
was  present  at  his  entire  course  of  sermons  on  the 
Church.  He  was  not  wholly  surprised,  therefore, 
when  on  the  day  after  he  had  finished  the  series, 
he  was  called  to  the  parlor  to  see  her.  He  had 
spoken  to  her  from  time  to  time,  but  always 
briefly,  since  making  her  acquaintance  in  Mr.  Dan- 
forth's  house;  though  Mary  Kiley  was  forever 
talking  of  her  and  urging  the  priest  to  endeavor 
to  help  her  towards  the  faith.  The  hope  that  he 
might  give  this  assistance  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind  as  he  opened  the  door  and  greeted  her  with 
his  usual  grave  reserve. 

Ambrose  Hanlon  was  a  man  at  whom  persons 
who  looked  once  nearly  always  looked  twice.  For 
it  is  not  so  common  that  we  can  dismiss  it  with  a 
glance,  to  meet  a  young  man  of  twenty-seven,  on 
whose  pale,  thin  face  is  set  the  sovereign  stamp 
of  gentle  dignity  and  studious  thoughtfulness ; 
from  whose  guileless  eyes  shines  a  benevolence  not 
to  be  concealed  for  all  their  shyness ;  and  in  whose 
smile  we  still  may  see  the  sunny  heart  of  an  un 
spoiled  boy.  Add  to  this  that  Ambrose  had  been 
studying  too  hard  lately,  so  that  on  the  morning 
of  Miss  Wakefield's  visit  he  looked  like  an  ascetic ; 
not  a  harsh  ascetic,  but  a  gentle  one,  with  a  sug 
gestion  of  manly  sturdiness  in  reserve,  and  we 
shall  not  wonder  that  Dorothy's  face  bespoke  ad 
miration  as  she  held  out  her  hand  in  greeting. 
100 


THE  PRIEST  101 

"  I  have  not  met  you  often,  Father  Hanlon," 
she  said,  "  but  I  seem  to  know  you  well,  for  Mr. 
Danforth  speaks  much  of  you.  I  am  so  glad  that 
you  and  he  are  friends." 

"  I  know  you  still  better,  Miss  Wakefield,"  an 
swered  the  priest,  "  for  I  call  occasionally  upon  a 
worshipper  of  yours  who  seems  restless  whenever 
our  conversation  wanders  very  far  from  the  sub 
ject  of  yourself." 

"  Dear,  sweet  Mary !  "  said  Dorothy,  with  a 
sudden  filling  of  the  eyes ;  "  she  is  my  guardian 
angel." 

"  She  is  the  whitest  soul  I  ever  knew,"  said 
Father  Hanlon.  "  Her  poor  little  body  is  hardly 
material  enough  to  conceal  the  shining  of  her 
spirit." 

"  One  of  your  sermons  lately  was  on  the  holi 
ness  of  the  Church,"  remarked  Dorothy.  "  I  did 
not  need  that  sermon,  for  I  know  Mary  Kiley.  I 
am  aware  what  a  saint  she  is." 

Father  Hanlon  was  silent,  perceiving  that  Miss 
Wakefield  had  now  come  to  the  purpose  of  her 
visit. 

"  I  attended  the  entire  course  of  your  instruc 
tions  on  the  marks  of  the  Church,"  resumed  the 
girl,  "  and  I  felt  impelled  to  call  on  you  for  a  brief 
consultation.  Will  you  allow  me  to  talk  about 
myself  for  a  moment?  " 

"  Certainly ;  in  discussing  religion,  that  is  a 
practical  necessity,"  answered  the  priest. 

"  I  think  I  have  strong  religious  inclinations," 
Dorothy  began.  "  If  I  have,  the  credit  is  not  mine 


102  THE  PRIEST 

but  my  father's,  who  was  one  of  the  noblest  and 
most  reverent  of  men.  I  am  a  Unitarian,  as  all 
my  family  have  been  for  generations.  The  Uni 
tarian  spirit  and  ideal  are  glorious  to  my  mind. 
I  can  never  abandon  them,  I  am  sure.  The  free 
dom  of  the  spirit,  the  development  of  personality, 
the  openness  of  mind,  the  exalted  idea  of  duty  and 
responsibility  inculcated  by  the  best  Unitarian 
teachers,  embody  for  me  the  highest  and  purest 
form  of  divine  faith." 

Father  Hanlon  felt  disappointment.  Thig  girl, 
it  was  clear,  had  not  come  for  instruction  in  the 
catechism.  What  had  she  come  for? 

"  But,"  continued  Dorothy,  "  there  is  much  in 
Unitarianism  which  appears  to  be  inadequate.  It 
has  only  a  handful  of  adherents.  Why  is  it  inade 
quate,  inefficacious?  This  is  a  question  that  I 
have  been  pondering  for  months.  Your  recent 
sermons  and  services  gave  me  some  light  upon  it. 
We  Unitarians  do  not  sufficiently  understand  and 
cultivate  the  human  side  of  religion.  The  ideals 
that  are  up  in  the  sky,  the  light  that  falls  upon  us 
from  above,  we  see  plainly  enough.  But  the  sub 
soil  of  human  nature,  the  common  clay  of  human 
needs,  we  are  likely  to  neglect.  The  sense  of  per 
sonal  sin,  the  meaning  of  repentance,  the  warmer 
religious  emotions,  the  impressiveness  of  liturgical 
forms,  the  closer  contact  with  Christ,  the  more 
intimate  dealings  with  God  —  these  your  Church 
enforces  upon  her  children  with  magnificent  felic 
ity  and  power.  Now  we  could  not  and  would  not 


THE  PRIEST  108 

carry  this  side  of  religion  so  far  as  you  carry  it. 
The  typical  Unitarian  mind  could  not  endure  it. 
But  take  over  some  of  these  vitally  human  features 
from  the  Catholic  Church  I  think  we  must.  We 
are  soaring  too  high  altogether.  Some  of  our 
ministers,  to  my  horror  and  shame,  are  preaching 
pantheism,  or  any  other  sort  of  ethical  paganism ; 
and  I  dread  the  spread  of  this  spirit.  We  shall 
be  saved  from  the  danger  if  we  learn  a  portion  of 
the  lesson  so  well  learned  by  your  sagacious 
Church:  Keep  hold  of  human  nature!  Do  I  l\ 
weary  you  ?  " 

"  Please  go  on,"  urged  Hanlon,  "  I  see  you  have 
something  further  to  say,  and  I  am  much  inter 
ested." 

"  Yes,  I  have  something  further  to  say,"  re 
sumed  Dorothy ;  "  but  I  fear  lest  perhaps  you 
think  me  bold  in  saying  it." 

Father  Hanlon  reassured  her,  and  she  went  on: 

"  While  I  think  Unitarian  Christianity  has 
much  to  learn  from  Catholic  Christianity,  I  am 
equally  convinced  that  you  have  something  to  learn 
from  us.  The  Catholic  Church  as  I  understand  it 
is  a  magnificent  memorial  and  epitome  of  the  past; 
but  it  is  too  prone  to  overlook  the  present.  It  is 
an  incomparable  appeal  to  the  mystical  side  of  ^ 
human  nature,  but  it  takes  too  little  account  of  the 
ever-progressing  rational  side  of  our  nature.  It 
has  clothed  its  dogmas  in  the  language  of  an  old 
philosophy  which  only  baffles  the  modern  mind. 
It  has  retained  certain  theocratic  ideas  which  were 


104  THE  PRIEST 

natural  enough  in  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  but 
are  grotesque  in  democratic  America.  It  canon 
izes  the  primitive  Fathers  and  the  mediaeval  school 
men,  but  frowns  upon  the  critical  research  and 
widening  thought  of  to-day.  It  is  autocratic;  it 
allows  no  public  opinion,  it  is  aloof  from  the  com 
mon  mind  of  men;  it  tolerates  no  views,  no  project 
of  reform  or  adaptation,  save  such  as  the  Pope  or 
the  Curia  may  conceive.  In  this,  too,  it  stands  in 
vital  contrast  to  our  age,  which  is  impatient  of 
autocracies,  and  demands  free  expression  for  the 
ideas  even  of  a  minority,  though  that  minority  be 
but  one.  I  cannot  see  how  the  Church  can  thrive 
amid  growing  light  and  freedom  unless  it  incor 
porates  into  its  spirit  that  individual  liberty,  that 
hearty  welcome  of  modern  thought,  that  less  rigid 
formulation  of  belief  which  are  so  dear  to  us  Uni 
tarians.  I  am  speaking  frankly,  you  see." 

*'  I  would  wish  you  to,"  said  the  priest,  bowing. 
"  You  are  going  to  draw  some  conclusions,  are  you 
not?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dorothy,  a  slight  tinge  creep 
ing  into  her  cheek ;  "  and  in  doing  so  I  know  not 
whether  the  kind  indulgence  you  have  shown  me 
may  not  be  overstrained." 

"  You  need  not  fear  that,"  the  priest  answered 
her,  in  a  grave,  kind  voice.  "  It  were  well  if 
priests  oftener  discussed  these  matters  with  per 
sons  of  your  intelligence  and  spiritual  earnestness 
—  if  they  could  be  found,"  he  added  with  a  smile. 
You  are  very  kind,"  said  Dorothy,  and  the 


(C 


THE  PRIEST  105 

frank  look  of  her  beautiful,  serious  eyes  bespoke 
how  sincerely  she  uttered  the  words. 

"  It  is  not  from  to-day  or  yesterday,"  she  went 
on,  "  that  I  have  dreamed  of  a  great,  all-conquer 
ing  faith  which  should  win  men's  minds  by  its  sim 
ple  and  unpuzzling  creed,  and  fascinate  their 
hearts  by  its  warmth  and  solemnity  and  sincerity, 
bringing  all  God's  human  children  into  a  vast 
brotherhood  of  Christ-seekers  and  Christ-lovers. 
Such  a  faith  must  possess  the  mystical  depth  of 
Catholicism  and  the  rational,  modern  freedom  of 
Unitarianism.  Long  ago  I  listened  to  sentiments 
like  these  from  my  father,  and  I  have  not  ceased 
to  develop  them  by  such  reflection  and  study  as  I 
am  capable  of  giving  them.  The  day  of  such  a 
consummation  is  distant  indeed.  Darkness  and 
distress  and  much  falling-away  must  come  first. 
And  above  all,  the  way  must  be  broken  open  by 
God's  elect  few,  His  true  prophets,  yes  and  even 
His  martyrs." 

She  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  resumed, 
looking  straight  at  her  astounded  listener :  "  I 
have  of  late  been  thinking  that  you  and  Mr.  Dan- 
forth  might  do  something  towards  this  glorious 
end.  You  are  both  well  fitted  for  it.  Could  you 
not  both  by  studying,  preaching,  writing,  join 
hands  and  work  toward  the  coming  kingdom? 
Why  not  write  a  book  together  on  the  church  that 
is  to  be?  At  least  why  not  here  in  Axton  break 
down  some  of  the  walls  of  division  that  so  shame 
fully  disunite  us,  and  bring  us  all  together  now  \f 
and  then  in  a  brotherhood  of  common  worship? 


106  THE  PRIEST 

"  I  should  not  venture  to  suggest  such  a  thing 
to  you  —  for  you  are  a  priest  of  the  most  exclu 
sive  form  of  Christianity;  and  you  have  been  re 
cently  telling  us  that  the  marks  of  Christ's  true 
church  are  found  in  the  Roman  communion  alone 
—  but  for  the  possibility  that  you  do  or  will  be 
long  to  that  small  band  of  men  in  your  church, 
anathematized  as  liberals,  who  are  doing  their 
utmost  to  broaden  Catholicism  and  make  it  the 
religious  home  for  all  mankind.  These  men  are 
hastening,  perhaps  more  than  any  others  in  the 
world,  the  advent  of  the  ideal  church  of  the  future. 
For  when  the  most  rigid  of  all  churches  becomes 
less  ecclesiastical  and  more  humane,  the  lesser 
orthodoxies  will  not  long  hold  out.  And  this  is 
the  end  for  which  noble,  liberal  Catholics  are  work 
ing.  If  you  would  help  them,  and  if  Mr.  Danforth 
would  co-operate  with  you  from  the  Unitarian  side, 
I  am  convinced  that  from  your  joint  efforts,  hun 
dreds,  and  who  knows  but  thousands,  of  blind 
souls  would  see  that  the  true  basis  of  reunion  is 
not  in  theologies  which  will  always  be  at  war,  but 
in  the  hearts  of  men  which  are  one  in  the  eternal 
unity  of  flesh  and  blood,  of  joy  and  sorrow,  of 
prayer  and  aspiration.  For  a  man  of  scholarly 
mind  and  devout  spirit,  this  seems  to  me  the  most 
thrilling  vocation  in  the  world.  Is  it  folly  to 
you?  " 

"  Miss  Wakefield,"  answered  Father  Hanlon ; 
"  the  idea  of  a  reunited  Christendom,  of  a  religious 
brotherhood  embracing  all  men  of  good  will,  ap- 


THE  PRIEST  107 

peals  to  me  very  deeply,  as  I  hardly  need  to  tell 
you.  Anything  that  I  could  do  towards  so  great 
an  end,  I  would  do  with  all  my  heart.  But  I  be 
long  to  and  believe  in  a  highly  exclusive  church, 
as  you  say.  And  I  cannot  admit  that  this  church 
will,  or  can,  ever  abandon  or  radically  change  a 
single  dogma  of  her  creed.  Believing  this  is  why 
I  cannot  join  outright  the  liberal  Catholics  whom 
you  admire.  For,  as  I  understand  them  —  I  have 
not  read  their  writings,  I  confess  —  these  men  are 
calling  upon  the  church  to  lessen  the  rigidity  of 
her  dogmatic  formulas.  But,  speaking  to  you  as 
frankly  as  you  have  spoken  to  me,  I  am  every  day 
growing  into  greater  sympathy  with  the  liberals, 
whom  I  acknowledge  I  had  always  before  detested, 
in  their  efforts  to  reform  Catholicism  in  matters 
of  discipline  and  administration.  In  concessions 
to  scholarship  and  to  the  democracy  which  is  win 
ning  the  world  —  concessions  to  the  Zeitgeist,  to 
use  an  almost  consecrated  expression  —  the 
Church  is  certainly  remiss.  To  this  extent  your 
ideal  speaks  a  message  to  me.  Whether  it  will 
ever  speak  a  deeper  one,  I  cannot  say." 

Soon  after,  the  conversation  was  at  an  end. 
Miss  Wakefield  went  away  with  mingled  feelings 
in  which  disappointment  and  satisfaction  fought 
for  the  upper  hand;  Father  Hanlon  returned  to 
his  study  to  reflect  for  a  long  time  on  this  wonder 
ful  Puritan  girl,  who  had  come  to  announce  to 
him  a  new  vocation  and  a  new  scheme  for  a  united 
Christendom. 


of  idolatry, 
day  »«e  deeply 

the  oaiiag  Cor  Ae  stndeatfs  bread  of  fife,  that 

if  a  saaa  eat  he  shall  hame  etenal  fife.     The  least 

•  he  game  to  deep;  aoae  to  ittiitahoB; 
that  was  little,  to  his 
of  a  ffarhh      AH  the  rest  he  leserrad 
r.     Erery  day  frond  boat 
tea,  at  his  desk;  aad 
of  tibe  old  towa  clock  feu 
as  be  still  held  the  book  to 


AxtoB  be 

finr  and  i«c  days 
his  books  aad  aotes,  as  he 
mmd  tibere  he  mnked  at 


He  Brihrafd  Bother  to 
the  sJBgpag  bodb  aboat  hai  aor  to  tibe  — ••»  of 
the  trees  above  h»  head,  so  absorbed  was  he  at 


of  tibe  Pestateach,  he  caw  ia  the  eoorse  of 

•e  to  cjoasider.    He  was  at  ^rv^k.  OB  the  JBiew 
its  lafidity ,  the  doctriBal 


m  it,  cad  now  to 

_  _*     •  ~f          •»       f  •••  - 
? ..-_  — :    5 .  _ _  •    :•_    _•- 

to  hha,  the  fme  mjmgt  aad  th 


for  tins  fine  of 

stady  of  the  ideas  and  the 

the  Jews  just  pi  aw  to  the . 

Hie  fouowed  step  by  step  the  pragifai 

hope,  and  read  every  fine  of  the 

apocalypses — the 


There  he  learned  that  ft  was  the 


SCUTS «  fll  OftCBCBBfl.  aBOOD  flDHD. 


of  the  earth.     Tarmac  to  las  New 

story;  at  the 
t  warid;  in  the 

•  a_  _  _  *• ^Tai  *_  •** _  J       "A*    *B -  -       —  -E     *_     a^_      aL  _ 

UK  cany  unvcHKs,  UMI*  u  me  IOJQUK  B  to  DC 


•ear;  that  *thni  gacniaaa  shaD  not  pass  sway  " 


ophy  as  aumpted  to  Hebrew  ideas  by 

L;  and  saw  ft  growing  srio  dnassa  as 


110  THE  PRIEST 

before  his  eyes,  through  the  influence  of  the  bap 
tismal  formula  which  at  the  first  had  been  merely 
"  into  the  name  of  Jesus."  But  above  all  other 
points  he  selected  one  as  a  special  object  of  re 
search.  This  was  the  dogma  of  redemption,  the 
atonement  for  the  fall  of  Adam  by  the  blood-satis 
faction  of  Christ.  This  he  felt  was  the  corner 
stone  of  the  whole  structure  of  traditional  theology, 
and  he  gave  his  best  efforts  to  exploring  the  foun 
dation  on  which  it  rested.  He  fought  hard  to  hold 
this  crucial  belief  intact.  The  one  text  support 
ing  it :  "  The  Son  of  Man  has  come  to  give  his 
life  as  a  ransom  for  many,"  he  clung  to  with  des 
peration,  refusing  to  believe  the  contention  of  ad 
vanced  critics  that  it  was  a  Pauline  addition  to, 
or  at  least  interpretation  of,  a  saying  of  the  Lord's. 
But  as  his  mind  grew  into  the  method  and  spirit  of 
criticism,  he  faltered  at  the  weak  support  which 
the  life  and  words  of  Jesus  give  to  this  momentous 
article  of  his  creed.  If  the  eternal  Deity  came 
down  from  heaven  for  this  primary  and  over 
shadowing  purpose  to  offer  satisfaction  to  God's 
justice  for  a  sin  committed  thousands  of  years 
before,  ought  not  the  gospels  to  be  full  of  it? 
Should  it  not  be  reiterated  in  Christ's  discourses? 
Yet  Christ  never  once  mentioned  Adam  or  original 
sin;  and  for  all  we  can  gather  from  the  gospels 
we  could  not  say  He  had  ever  heard  of  either.  In 
the  texts  which  most  intimately  disclose  the  mind 
of  Christ,  and  are  most  unmistakably  genuine, 
there  is  no  remotest  reference  to  what  is  now  held 


THE  PRIEST  111 

to  have  been  the  essential  reason  for  His  appear 
ing  on  earth.  Was  not  the  dogma  an  effort  at  ex 
plaining  that  stunning  scandal  to  faith,  the  Lord's 
ignominious  death?  Did  it  not  arise  because  the 
early  believers  simply  could  not  have  kept  their 
faith  in  Jesus  if  they  thought  He  had  no  more 
divinity  in  Him  than  to  be  subjected  to  a  criminal's 
death?  Granted  any  faith  whatever  in  Him,  His 
first  followers  must  have  regarded  His  death  of 
shame  as  voluntarily  undergone  in  fulfilment  of 
some  vast  theurgic  scheme.  Is  it  not  to  Paul  and 
to  Pauline  semi-rabbinism  that  we  owe  the  ideas 
of  first  Adam  and  second  Adam ;  of  a  race  lost  by 
sin  and  redeemed  by  blood?  Hardly  possible  as 
it  is  to  fit  these  conceptions  into  the  life  of  Jesus, 
how  natural  that  they  should  have  arisen  in  ex 
planation  of  his  death! 

But  if  the  Gospels  reflect  the  ideas  of  a  time 
later  than  Jesus ;  if  their  apocalyptic  sections  are 
but  transcripts  of  notions  prevalent  in  Palestine 
even  before  Jesus;  if  the  doctrines  of  the  Trinity 
and  of  baptism  have  grown  beyond  what  the 
authentic  words  of  Christ  warrant;  if  the  blood- 
redemption  dogma  is  the  product  of  theologizing, 
and  not  a  teaching  of  the  Lord,  what  was  to  be 
come  of  Father  Hanlon's  faith?  After  many  days 
of  wretchedness  and  many  hours  of  prayer,  he 
put  this  question  once  to  Danforth.  The  min 
ister's  answer  was  to  refer  him  to  the  writings  of 
the  liberal  Catholics  who  had  contrived  a  phi 
losophy  of  conformity  according  to  which  neither 


112  THE  PRIEST 

the  present  result  of  criticism  nor  their  adherence 
to  Catholicism  need  be  abandoned.  If  they  could 
find  a  way  out  of  the  perplexity,  said  Danforth, 
perhaps  Hanlon  could.  Acting  on  the  suggestion 
the  young  priest  devoted  weeks  to  the  reading  of 
Loisy,  Tyrrell,  LeRoy,  and  the  other  leaders  of 
advanced  Catholicity.  From  them  he  learned 
methods  of  interpreting  ancient  formulas  and  sub 
scribing  to  venerable  creeds,  which  were  hardly 
less  amazing  to  him  than  the  revelations  of  his 
critical  studies.  Baptism  means  simply  the  solemn 
and  public  initiation  into  the  body  of  believers; 
confession  and  absolution  the  process  by  which  the 
sinner,  having  given  signs  of  penitence,  is  officially 
declared  to  be  reunited  to  the  true  spiritual  church 
of  Christ  and  communion  of  saints ;  the  Trinity, 
the  eternal  Spirit  as  we  see  it  working  in  diverse 
ways;  the  atonement,  the  uplift  to  a  regenerated 
life  that  results  from  the  contemplation  of  the 
Lord's  heroic  death.  At  modes  of  interpretation 
like  these,  of  a  creed  which  rests  upon  the  total 
denial  of  private  interpretation,  Ambrose  was  at 
first  profoundly  shocked.  In  such  a  system,  he 
felt,  anything  might  mean  anything.  It  was  tri 
fling  with  words.  It  fell  far  short  of  downright 
sincerity.  But  as  he  grew  accustomed  to  the 
thought  of  these  men,  he  perceived  that  their 
scheme  of  conformity  was  not  without  sublimity 
as  well  as  ingenuity.  If  the  Nicene  age  could  put 
new  wordings  upon  ancient  dogmas,  why  cannot 
ours?  If  doctrine  has  undergone  development, 


THE  PRIEST  113 

and  vast  development  already,  why  may  we  not 
help  it  forward  to  a  new  development  required  by 
science  and  the  modern  spirit?  Is  it  not  better 
to  make  the  attempt  at  least,  than  to  cut  loose 
from  the  Church,  abandon  her  many  helps  to  the 
interior  life,  and  throw  ourselves  into  a  work  of 
disintegration  rather  than  one  of  reconstruction? 
Yes,  there  was  a  reason  and  some  species  of  justi 
fication  for  liberal  Catholicism;  though  try  as  he 
might,  Ambrose  could  not  make  it  fit  his  conscience 
comfortably.  Rid  it  of  subtle  insincerity  he  could 
not ;  nor  could  he  avoid  thinking  that  with  all  the 
liberal  Catholics'  horror  of  separation  and  schism, 
they  were  far  more  widely  removed  from  the 
Church,  as  a  teaching  church,  than  were  any  of 
the  Protestant  sects  at  the  time  of  the  Reforma 
tion.  Still  he  was  one  with  these  liberal  thinkers 
of  his  church  in  most  features  of  their  activity. 
With  them  he  recognized  the  need  of  many  reforms 
within  Catholicism,  reform  in  worship,  in  govern 
ment,  and  above  all  in  Rome's  attitude  to  scholar 
ship  and  modern  democracy.  Clearly,  if  he  was 
to  remain  a  Catholic  he  must  consider  himself  a 
member  of  this  modernist  party,  however  he  might 
be  distressed  by  their  subscription  to  the  creed  in 
a  non-natural  sense. 

The  clouds  about  him  grew  darker,  the  unrest 
within  his  breast  deeper  with  every  day.  At  times 
he  would  lift  weary  eyes  from  the  book  on  his  desk 
and  gaze,  now  at  the  crucifix  upon  the  wall,  now 
at  two  mottoes  hung  above  his  table  which  he  had 


1U  THE  PRIEST 

copied  from  the  first  book  that  Danf orth  lent  him : 
"  He  has  no  right  to  call  himself  a  child  of  Truth 
who  will  not  follow  her  in  meek  submission  whither 
soever  she  leads."  "  Love  Truth  as  you  love  God ; 
not  rashly,  not  violently,  not  with  reckless  passion, 
but  calmly,  considerately,  thoughtfully,  with  un 
sullied  conscience,  with  aspiring  mind,  with  inde 
structible  trust."  Noble  words,  and  he  was  doing 
his  best  to  live  up  to  them.  Sincere  and  candid 
Truth  he  was  seeking  through  laborious  days  and 
lonely  nights;  and  loving  it  too  with  a  pure  con 
science,  and,  at  least  as  yet,  with  courage.  Yet 
whither  was  it  leading  him?  Back  to  what  once 
he  was,  what  once  he  held  with  so  radiant  a  con 
viction?  "  No !  "  tolled  like  a  bell  within  his  heart. 
Whither  then  ?  No  answer  came  and  darkness  fell 
upon  his  eyes.  Whither?  Up  rough  and  stony 
paths  he  knew;  but  on  what  summit  he  should 
stand  at  the  journey's  end,  he  could  not  tell,  nor 
dared  to  think. 

More  than  once  he  left  his  books  open  upon  the 
table  and  went  for  sheer  relief  to  visit  the  dear 
child  Mary,  that  suffering  saint.  How  her  words 
both  comforted  and  pained  him! 

"  I  am  blessedly  happy,  Father,"  she  would  say. 
"  Our  Lord  condescends  to  comfort  me.  The 
Church's  holy  prayers  and  Sacraments  are  life  to 
me.  I  must  try  to  be  more  patient  till  Jesus  gives 
me  release,  and  I  behold  Him,  if  I  am  not  too  sin 
ful,  face  to  face." 

One  day  as  he  was  leaving  her,  and  had  said, 


THE  PRIEST  115 

with  a  pang  of  sorrow  in  his  heart :  "  My  dear 
little  girl,  pray  for  me  to  the  Lord  who  is  so  near 
you,"  Mary,  holding  his  hand,  answered: 
"  Father,  you  are  suffering,  are  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,  child,"  he  said ;  "  but  it  is  a  small  mat 
ter." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Mary,  "  that  to-morrow, 
when  you  say  Mass,  Our  Lord  reposing  in  your 
hands  will  smile  upon  you,  and  give  you  His  un 
speakable  peace." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Ambrose  to  himself,  as  he  left  the 
Kiley  cottage  that  morning ;  "  what  can  frozen 
scholarship  give  in  return  for  what  it  is  so  des 
perately  trying  to  take  away?  Little  Mary  is  an 
apology  for  the  ancient  ways  of  the  tender  Savior, 
that  is  unanswerable  to  all  the  intellect  in  tier- 
many." 

But  when  he  returned  to  his  books,  the  austere 
voice  of  science  and  truth  spoke  in  his  heart  as 
imperatively  as  before.  Promising  no  comfort, 
uttering  no  raptures,  holding  forth  no  thrilling 
joys,  it  spoke  to  him  its  simple  word  of  august 
authority.  How  cold  and  stern  were  its  tones! 
How  firm  and  unrelenting  was  its  accent!  Thus 
was  Ambrose  Hanlon  divided  between  head  and 
heart.  Thus  he  passed  into  that  tragic  crisis  out 
of  which  have  come  both  the  bitterest  cynics  and 
the  holiest  saints  of  our  humanity. 

His  opportunities  for  discussing  his  problems 
with  Josiah  Danforth  had  now  become  rare. 
Danforth  was  absent  some  days  of  every  week 
lecturing  on  Christian  patriotism  and  founding 


116  THE  PRIEST 

new  branches  of  his  Conscience  and  Country 
League.  Great  audiences  were  greeting  the 
young  minister  everywhere.  His  discourses,  so 
lofty,  so  earnest,  so  mystical,  so  filled  with  a 
sacred  love  of  country  and  humanity,  were  arous 
ing  an  enthusiasm  like  that  which  attends  some 
extraordinary  revival  of  religious  zeal.  But  de 
spite  these  occupations,  Danforth  was  affection 
ately  following  every  development  in  the  mind  of 
his  friend.  He  encouraged  him  to  see  that  these 
mental  distresses  were  but  the  growing-pains  of  a 
God-approaching  soul.  He  confirmed  his  faith 
in  the  eternal  verities  of  the  all-Holy.  He  com 
forted  him  by  showing  that  his  mental  emancipa 
tion  was  meant  for  a  preparation  for  some  diviner 
vocation  than  he  had  ever  known  before.  In  all 
ways  he  was  a  brother  to  the  troubled  priest,  his 
stay  and  strong  support.  These  kind  offices 
touched  Ambrose  Hanlon's  heart  with  a  gratitude 
which  he  hardly  dared  trust  himself  to  express. 
He  came  to  venerate  Danforth  as  a  man  of  God, 
and  to  love  him  as  the  best  of  friends.  Through 
the  inspiration  that  the  minister  gave  him,  he  be 
gan  at  last  to  perceive  joyousness  and  warmth  in 
the  aspect  of  that  Truth  which  at  first  had  ap 
peared  so  destructive  and  so  stern.  His  natural 
gentleness  of  character  was  steadied  and  fortified 
with  a  firmer  sense  of  integrity  than  his  previous 
training  had  been  able  to  give  him.  Not  for  the 
world  would  he  undo  the  mental  and  spiritual 
transformation  through  which  he  was  passing. 
He  rejoiced  in  it.  But  still  he  suffered.  His 


THE  PRIEST  117 

hours  of  desolation  were  many;  and  looking  into 
the  future  he  could  discern  no  certainty  except 
loneliness  and  trials  manifold. 

His  most  frequent  visitor  during  this  period 
was  the  Reverend  Joseph  Dooran.  Unstable  in 
mind  as  he  was  unlovable  in  character,  this  man 
had  caught  indiscriminately  at  both  the  fairly  as 
certained  results  and  the  merest  hypotheses  of 
criticism;  bothered  himself  not  at  all  with  any 
painstaking  verification  of  either;  and  leaped  at 
one  wild  jump  into  the  most  advanced  conclusions 
and  the  most  radical  theories  of  the  critical  school. 
Ambrose,  at  first  alarmed,  became  simply  vexed 
and  bored  by  Dooran's  impetuosity,  lack  of 
method,  and  wholly  unscholarly  and  unreverential 
attitude  of  mind.  Dooran  came  regularly  to  bor 
row  books  which  Ambrose  would  have  refused  him, 
but  that  a  serious  quarrel  would  have  followed  the 
refusal.  He  disliked  to  discuss  any  question  with 
Dooran ;  and  contented  himself  now  and  then  re 
futing  some  extravagant  opinion  which  had  caught 
Dooran's  fancy,  and  with  warning  him  that  he  was 
going  about  the  business  of  these  studies  in  an  ut 
terly  unscientific  fashion.  Useless  all!  Dooran 
continued  to  be  the  slave  of  the  latest  book  he  read, 
the  newest  hypothesis  he  came  upon.  Tempera 
mentally  he  was  beyond  teaching.  As  a  rule, 
Father  Hanlon  maintained  the  traditional  views 
of  Scripture  and  doctrine  against  Dooran,  and 
now  and  then  silenced  him  with  arguments  which 
were  far  from  conclusive  to  himself.  Still,  un- 


118  THE  PRIEST 

congenial  as  Dooran  was,  Ambrose  confided  much 
to  him.  Times  were  when  his  overburdened  heart 
sought  the  relief  of  sharing  —  if  sharing  it  could 
be  called  —  its  hidden  sorrow  even  with  this  un 
sympathetic  nature.  In  return  Dooran  frankly 
confessed  that  only  by  a  straining  of  courtesy 
could  he  himself  be  called  a  Catholic  any  longer. 
Long  before  he  had  begun  his  late  course  of  read 
ing,  he  said,  he  had  been  thoroughly  disgusted  at 
the  administrative  side  of  the  church.  As  one  of 
the  consultors  of  the  diocese  he  knew,  he  declared, 
how  great  an  influence  scheming,  sycophancy,  and 
the  power  of  money  possessed  in  the  allotting  of 
fat  places  in  fields  ecclesiastical;  and  how  little 
any  higher  providence  had  to  do  with  it.  He  had 
tried  not  to  yield  to  this  feeling  and  had  purposely 
cultivated  a  stringent  conservatism,  he  reminded 
Ambrose ;  but  now  that  he  had  come  to  see  on  how 
slender  a  basis  not  only  church-discipline  but 
church-dogma  rested,  he  was  going  to  make  no 
further  pretenses,  and  cared  not  who  knew  of  his 
liberal  and  radical  tendencies. 

Ambrose  was  somewhat  apprehensive  lest  from 
Dooran's  reckless  speaking  in  the  presence  of  con 
servative  priests  trouble  might  arise  for  both  of 
them.  But  this  was  the  least  of  his  worries,  and 
neither  to  Father  Dooran  nor  to  the  jeopardy  of 
Father  Dooran's  faith  did  he  give  more  than  an 
occasional  and  passing  thought. 


XIII 

Father  Hanlon  had  free  access  to  Mr.  Dan- 
forth's  house  and  in  the  minister's  absence  he 
spent  many  hours  there  amid  the  treasures  of  the 
library.  He  often  attended  the  evening  devotions 
of  the  household,  and  no  longer  with  a  smarting 
conscience.  His  mind  had  grown  too  large  now 
to  believe,  indeed  he  was  shocked  and  humiliated 
that  he  had  ever  believed,  that  it  was  a  sin  to  kneel  ^/ 
with  any  of  God's  children  in  supplication  and  /\ 
worship  to  the  Father  of  us  all.  These  half-hours 
of  silent  prayer  refreshed  him;  and  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Mrs.  Danforth  and  Dorothy  he  found  a 
comfort  of  which  his  human  nature  was  sorely  in 
need. 

One  evening  when  they  had  risen  from  medita 
tion,  Father  Hanlon  returned  to  the  library  to 
finish  the  reading  of  an  article  in  a  biblical  ency 
clopedia.  As  he  descended  the  stairs  half  an  hour 
later  to  leave  the  house,  he  found  Miss  Wakefield 
in  the  entry  setting  out  for  home.  The  priest 
wondered  if  he  should  offer  to  accompany  her,  as 
it  was  now  quite  ten  o'clock.  He  decided  not  to 
make  the  offer.  So  far  as  he  was  aware,  Dan 
forth  never  went  with  her ;  and  the  streets  of  Axton 
surely  were  safe.  So  with  merely  a  word  of 
good-night,  he  took  the  short  street  leading  to  the 
square  and  Dorothy  the  broad  road  on  which  her 
uncle's  house  and  in  general  the  better  class  of 
residences  were  situated.  Dorothy  had  not  gone 

twenty  yards  from  the  house  when  a  man  stepped 
119 


120  THE  PRIEST 

from  the  dark  roadside  and  said  in  a  voice  that 
she  had  reason  to  remember: 

"  Mees-a  Wakefield,  I  must  spik  to  you." 

The  girl  instantly  turned  away  from  the  man 
and  called  out: 

"  Father  Hanlon,  will  you  come  here,  please?  " 

In  a  few  rapid  steps  the  priest  was  at  her  side. 
Pasquale  Ciasca  still  stood  confronting  her. 

"  Father  Hanlon,"  said  Dorothy,  "  this  man  is 
annoying  me." 

"  You  scoundrel !  "  exclaimed  Hanlon,  stepping 
up  to  the  Italian,  resolved  to  give  battle  on  the 
spot. 

Ciasca  in  all  probability  could  have  killed  the 
fragile  student  had  they  engaged  in  combat;  but 
he  had  no  desire  to  get  himself  into  serious  trouble. 
Implacable  as  was  his  native  revengefulness,  it 
was  also  calculating  and  cautious.  He  yielded 
ground  therefore  before  the  priest's  advance,  and 
dropped  into  the  roadside  thicket,  leaving  behind 
him  a  trail  of  fluent  imprecations. 

Dorothy's  earnestly  spoken  gratitude  was  very 
pleasing  to  Father  Hanlon.  There  was  no  shal 
low  sentiment  about  it.  Simply  in  his  grave  way 
he  felt  ennobled  at  having  done  this  refined  girl 
a  service,  and  at  having  been  ready  to  risk  his  life 
in  doing  it. 

Father  Hanlon  knew  of  Ciasca.  The  fellow 
had  of  late  become  a  violent  partisan  of  Murdock's, 
and  was  working  strenuously  among  his  Italian 
countrymen  to  enlist  them  among  the  anarchists, 


THE  PRIEST  121 

or  at  least  to  deter  them  from  the  practice  of  relig 
ion.  His  success  had  been  only  too  pronounced. 
One  of  his  boasts  that  had  reached  the  ears  of 
Father  Hanlon  was  that  he  had  a  larger  Italian 
parish  than  the  priest,  though  he  was  the  devil's 
lieutenant,  while  the  priest  claimed  to  be  God's. 

As  Hanlon  was  leaving  Miss  Wakefield  at  her 
gate  she  gave  him  her  hand,  repeating  her  appre 
ciation  of  his  act,  and  said: 

"  I  trust,  Father  Hanlon,  that  this  kindness  to 
me  will  not  lead  to  any  danger  for  you.  That 
man  is  to  be  dreaded.  Will  you  not  take  every 
precaution  lest  he  injure  you?  " 

He  assured  her,  smiling,  that  he  had  not  the 
slightest  fear,  and  took  leave  of  her  with  much 
less  concern  about  the  matter  in  his  breast  than 
there  was  in  hers.  As  he  approached  the  hotel  the 
incident  dropped  from  his  mind,  and  he  fell  to 
reflecting  upon  the  reading  that  he  had  done  that 
night  in  Josiah  Danforth's  library.  He  saw  not 
the  crouching  figure  that  waited  ahead  of  him 
where  the  street  turned  into  the  square.  He  saw 
no  one  except  Nahum  Cuttle  coming  out  of  his 
front  door  to  put  up  the  shutters  for  the  night. 
As  he  was  about  to  make  the  turn  in  the  road,  the 
earth  fell  away  beneath  his  feet,  the  roar  as  of  a 
hundred  cataracts  overwhelmed  him,  and  he  knew 
no  more. 

The  inn-keeper  saw  him  fall,  and  rushed  to  help 
him.  "  Poor  dear  man !  "  said  Nahum,  as  he  ten 
derly  carried  him  into  the  house ;  "  I'd  commit 


THE  PRIEST 

murder  to-night  if  I  knew  the  black  scoundrel  that 
did  this.     Poor  dear  boy !  " 

On  the  third  day  after  the  assault  Father  Han- 
Ion  left  his  bed  for  a  short  time  in  the  afternoon, 
and  with  Nahum's  help  went  down  stairs  and  sat 
propped  up  with  pillows  in  a  reclining  chair  on 
the  piazza.  It  was  a  beautiful  day  in  late  Oc 
tober.  It  had  been  warm  all  day;  and  now  the 
sun  was  sinking  in  great  billows  of  clouds  that 
were  massed  upon  the  horizon.  A  brooding  ten 
derness  and  a  profound  peace  seemed  to  hover 
over  the  earth.  It  was  an  hour  for  great  and 
tranquil  thoughts.  The  soul  of  Ambrose  was  in 
a  mood  to  match  this  evening  prayer  of  nature. 
He  had  been  near  to  death.  Death?  Was  there 
not  solace  in  the  word  and  thought?  Yes,  a  great 
and  sustaining  solace.  If  he  had  died,  it  would 
have  been  not  only  without  complaint,  but  with 
quiet  joy.  He  rejoiced  to  find  that  he  had  no 
fear  of  death.  He  was  not  what  he  once  was; 
his  mind  had  changed,  his  spirit  had  grown.  He 
had  studied  and  meditated.  He  had  gone  far 
seeking  Truth.  But  still  he  was  one  with  God. 
Still  he  was  a  priest.  To  the  divine  he  was  con 
secrated;  to  the  divine  he  had  been  true.  He  felt 
that  God's  Spirit  had  been  leading  him ;  that  God 
was  at  this  moment  comforting  him.  He  looked 
at  the  setting  sun,  at  the  quiet  earth,  at  the  be 
nignant,  all-embracing  sky.  They  all  gave 
answer  to  his  own  spirit :  "  The  Eternal  Heart 
and  Will  are  merciful  and  tender  and  good." 
Tears  filled  his  eyes.  It  had  been  long  since  re- 


THE  PRIEST  123 

ligious  emotion  had  brought  him  tears.  But  now 
the  assurance  within  his  heart,  the  trust  that  sus 
tained  his  soul,  the  consciousness  of  deep  com 
munion  with  One  that  was  higher  than  he,  over 
came  him,  and  he  yielded  to  the  full  felicity  of 
this  holy  hour. 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  these  meditations  that 
he  saw  not  a  young  woman  walking  rapidly  to 
wards  him,  her  eyes  fastened  upon  him  eagerly, 
tenderly.  Not  till  she  was  upon  the  steps  of  the 
piazza  did  he  notice  her. 

"  Father  Hanlon,"  said  Dorothy,  "  permit  me 
the  liberty,"  and  holding  his  hand  in  both  hers, 
she  bent  and  kissed  it  reverently. 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment.  Dorothy  was 
gazing  upon  him  with  profound,  but  fairly  con 
cealed  emotion.  He  looked  so  utterly  forlorn  and 
weak ;  his  wan  face  so  pure  and  spiritual ! 

"  Father,"  she  said  at  last ;  "  I  fear  you  are  not 
getting  sufficient  care." 

He  smiled  faintly.  "  Yes,"  said  his  weak  voice, 
"  I  am  very  well  looked  after.  Nahum  is  the  soul 
of  kindness." 

"  But  a  man  cannot  be  a  nurse,"  protested 
Dorothy.  "  Are  you  left  alone  all  day  long  in 
that  lonely  room  of  yours,  with  no  one  to  give 
you  what  you  need?  " 

"  Nahum  looks  in  from  time  to  time,"  he  an 
swered.  "  I  really  have  everything  necessary. 
And  as  for  loneliness,  a  priest,  you  know,  is  used 
to  that.  It  is  our  portion,  and  we  take  it  without 
complaint.  We  are  not  accustomed  to  much  at- 


124  THE  PRIEST 

tention.  So  please  do  not  exaggerate  this  trifling 
inconvenience  of  mine." 

"  I  will  not  exaggerate,"  said  Dorothy ;  "  but  I 
have  every  reason  to  wish  to  do  what  I  can  for 
you.  I  was  the  cause  of  your  suffering."  Her 
voice  was  nearly  beyond  her  control  as  she  spoke 
the  words. 

"  The  suffering  is  not  worth  mentioning,"  he 
assured  her.  "  Such  as  it  is,  I  consider  it  a  favor, 
if  that  which  brought  it  on  was  of  the  least  ser 
vice  to  you."  Then  with  a  smile  he  added :  "  But 
my  life  is  charmed,  you  know.  That  vocation 
that  you  once  suggested  to  me  is  still  before  me." 

"  Yes,"  was  Dorothy's  quiet  remark,  "  it  is  still 
before  you,  and  I  feel  that  you  will  yet  under 
take  it." 

Father  Hanlon's  face  was  grave  again.  "  I 
think  I  am  much  nearer  to  it  now  than  I  was  when 
you  first  spoke  of  it  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
scarcely  audible  to  her,  as  though  he  were  solilo 
quizing. 

"  Do  you  fear  it  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

He  did  not  answer  for  some  moments.  "  I 
would  like  to  say  No,"  he  responded  finally,  "  but 
of  late  I  have  been  trying  to  cultivate  Truth  above 
all  things,  and  I  fear  I  must  say  I  do  fear  it. 
Heroic  men,  your  great  ideal  calls  for,  and  I  have 
never  believed  myself  a  man  of  such  dimensions." 

"  It  is  war  not  peace  that  makes  the  soldier," 
said  Dorothy.  "  I  think  you  have  shown  your 
ability  to  rise  to  the  demands  of  a  crisis." 


THE  PRIEST  125 

"  Miss  Wakefield,"  he  deprecated ;  "  I  feel  hu 
miliated  at  your  overestimation  of  a  beggarly  in 
cident.  But  as  to  the  future  I  would  like  to 
strengthen  the  hands  of  our  Catholic  liberals.  I 
would  like  to  break  down  some  of  the  unnecessary 
walls  of  division  that  stand  in  the  way  of  Christian 
reunion.  If  I  ever  do  make  the  attempt,  I  shall 
be  that  most  to  be  pitied  of  all  men,  a  conscien 
tious  priest  disgraced  by  authority,  cast  off  by 
friends,  and  a  source  of  pain  to  those  I  most  love. 
You  spoke  a  moment  ago  of  loneliness.  Ah!  but 
that  is  loneliness,  the  loneliness  of  utter  desola 
tion." 

He  relapsed  into  thoughtful  silence.  Dorothy 
looked  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  sorrow. 

"  Father  Hanlon,"  she  said,  "  it  is  impossible 
for  you  to  go  on  thinking  and  feeling  so.  If  you 
allow  yourself  to  get  into  this  condition  of  spirit 
ual  and  mental  anguish,  your  life  will  be  ruined. 
You  cannot  endure  the  strain.  If  I  read  your 
nature  aright,  you  would  soon  break  down  com 
pletely  beneath  unrest  and  discontent.  You  feel 
too  deeply  to  bear  such  a  burden  long.  You  must 
act;  you  must  come  to  a  definite  resolve.  What 
ever  pain  such  action  might  bring,  it  would  be  far 
less  harmful  than  the  silent  inactivity  of  abiding 
sorrow.  But  I  must  cease  speaking  of  these  mat 
ters  now.  I  have  already  tried  your  strength  too 
long,  and  I  must  let  you  rest.  Good-by,  dear 
friend.  You  will  allow  a  Unitarian  girl  to  pray 
for  you?  " 


126  THE  PRIEST 

"  I  implore  her  to  do  so,"  was  the  priest's  earn 
est  answer.  "  And  may  that  Unitarian  girl  her 
self  be  vouchsafed  the  best  blessings  that  God  can 
give!" 

As  Dorothy  walked  away  in  the  gathering  twi 
light,  Father  Hanlon  looked  after  her  marveling. 
He  had  never  told  her  of  his  condition  of  mind 
and  soul;  yet  she  divined  it  perfectly.  His  ac 
quaintance  with  her  had  been  brief  and  far  from 
intimate ;  yet  in  telling  him  that  he  could  not  long 
endure  his  present  distress,  she  had  revealed  to 
him  a  side  of  his  nature  that  he  had  not  himself 
observed.  What  intuition  she  had!  What  sym 
pathy  ! 


XIV 

The  Reverend  Joseph  Dooran  was  seated  at  his 
desk  reading  a  book,  lent  him  by  Hanlon,  on  the 
traces  of  Gragco-Alexandrian  philosophy  in  the 
fourth  Gospel,  when  Father  O'Murtagh  walked 
into  the  room. 

"  What  are  you  reading,  Dooran  ?  "  asked  the 
unceremonious  visitor,  glancing  at  the  book. 
"  Humph !  more  infidelity.  Dooran,  this  kind  of 
business  has  made  you  a  changed  man." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  answered  Dooran  coldly. 

"  You  have  not  only  been  reading  rationalist 
authors,  but  you  have  been  talking  freely,  and  I 
may  say  scandalously,  about  holy  things,"  con 
tinued  Father  O'Murtagh. 

"  You  are  frank  I  must  say,"  remarked  Dooran, 
his  little  eyes  and  harsh  mouth  expressing  angry 
resentment. 

"  I  think  frankness  is  what  you  need,"  persisted 
O'Murtagh,  not  disconcerted  in  the  least. 

"  You  would  like  me  to  confine  myself  to  the 
penny  catechism,  and  to  St.  Thomas,  from  whom 
we  are  separated  by  seven  centuries  of  intellectual 
progress,  I  dare  say."  Dooran  put  his  best  sar 
casm  into  the  words. 

"  Seven  centuries  of  intellectual  rubbish  would 
be  nearer  the  truth,"  asserted  O'Murtagh.  "  So 
you  think  these  modern  lads,  Harnack  and  —  and 
— •  the  rest  of  them,  are  greater  than  the  Fathers, 

the  Saints,  and  even  the  Gospel,  do  you?  " 
127 


128  THE  PRIEST 

"  I  do  not  care  to  enter  into  a  controversy  with 
you,"  said  Dooran. 

"  Faith,  and  I  don't  want  a  controversy  either. 
The  whole  parcel  of  modern  criticism  is  impious 
folly.  It  is  the  insane  pride  of  men  who  think 
that  God  is  impertinent  because  He  proposes  to 
their  belief  mysteries  to  which  their  idiotic  heads 
must  surrender.  It  isn't  worth  a  controversy. 
The  best  argument  against  these  fellows  is  to  kick 
them  into  the  street.  The  best  use  for  their  books 
is  to  pitch  them  into  the  fire." 

So  saying,  Father  O'Murtagh  helped  himself  to 
one  of  Dooran's  cigars,  lighted  it  and  sat  back, 
blowing  fragrant  clouds  into  the  air,  massive  and 
imperturbable. 

"  How  many  of  these  so-called  rationalist  books 
did  you  ever  read?  "  asked  Father  Dooran. 

"  Diwle  a  one  at  all  and  very  few  of  any  other 
kind,"  confessed  the  Irishman  unabashed.  "  Half 
the  crazy  foolishness  in  the  world,  yes  nine-tenths 
of  it,  comes  from  reading.  It's  faith  that  men 
need;  they  have  too  many  books.  Has  young 
Hanlon  any  faith  left  in  him  at  all?  " 

"  Of  course  he  has,"  responded  Dooran.  "  That 
is  the  way  with  you  conservatives;  as  soon  as  a 
man  begins  to  know  anything,  you  yell  out  that 
he  is  a  heretic.  Good  heavens!  can  no  one  have 
faith  but  a  jackass?  " 

"  Poor  man !  "  said  O'Murtagh,  smiling  comi 
cally  at  his  exasperated  companion.  "  Dooran, 
you  are  the  biggest  jackass  in  the  diocese  this 
minute." 


THE  PRIEST  129 

"  O'Murtagh,"  retorted  Dooran,  flushing  very 
red  under  the  insult ;  "  I  must  ask  you  to  leave  my 
house." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  "  laughed  his  big  tormenter. 
"  Well,  then  I  refuse  to  leave." 

"  Then  I  will  leave  you,"  said  Dooran,  rising. 

"  Sit  down,  me  boy,  sit  down,"  advised  O'Mur 
tagh,  waving  his  hand  toward  the  chair.  "  Per 
haps  I  have  come  here  to  do  you  a  great  favor." 

"  I  don't  want  your  favors,  sir,"  said  Dooran 
on  the  threshold. 

"  All  right,  sir,"  replied  O'Murtagh.  "  It  is  in 
my  power  to  confer  on  you  the  greatest  benefit  of 
your  life,  and  I  came  here  to  do  it;  but  perhaps 
I  had  better  be  going." 

Father  O'Murtagh  knew  his  man.  Father 
Dooran  had  a  keen  eye  to  the  main  chance.  Of 
all  persons  in  the  world  whose  interests  he  was 
likely  to  forget,  Joseph  Dooran  was  the  last. 

"  If  you  have  anything  decent  to  say  to  me,  say 
it,"  he  remarked. 

"  When  you  sit  down  I  will  make  my  little 
speech,"  observed  O'Murtagh  calmly. 

Father  Dooran  sat  down. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  Bishop  Shyrne  is  a 
very  orthodox  man  ?  "  began  O'Murtagh. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  he  despises  liberal 
Catholics?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  he  is  about  to  ask 


130  THE  PRIEST 

Rome  for  a  coadjutor  bishop  with  right  of  suc 
cession  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  The  bishop  has  great  influence  in  Rome.  The 
man  whom  he  recommends  will  surely  get  the  ap 
pointment.  You  are  aware  of  that  too  ?  " 

Father  Dooran  was  silent. 

"  Well  then,  I  have  it  on  the  highest  authority 
that  he  is  to  request  the  Holy  See  to  name  as  his 
coadjutor,  the  Reverend  Joseph  Dooran." 

The  gentleman  to  whom  this  unexpected  an 
nouncement  was  made  sank  down  in  his  chair,  a 
pallor  came  into  his  cheeks,  and  in  the  stress  of 
his  nervousness  he  began  biting  his  finger-nails. 
Excitement  always  brought  his  incurable  un- 
couthness  to  the  surface. 

"  Of  course,"  resumed  O'Murtagh,  "  if  Bishop 
Shyrne  hears  of  your  recent  reading  and  manner 
of  speaking  it's  all  up  with  you.  Perhaps  by  way 
of  no  harm,  and  as  though  you  had  no  knowledge 
of  what  I  have  told  you,  you  could  manage  to  do 
or  say  something  that  would  prove  your  conserva 
tive  orthodoxy.  It  would  be  decisive  with  the  old 
man  just  at  this  time  I  think." 

Father  Dooran  rose  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"  Father  O'Murtagh,"  he  said,  "  you  are  the  best 
of  friends.  If  I  get  this  appointment,  be  assured 
you  will  be  well  rewarded  for  what  you  have  done 
to-day." 

When  O'Murtagh  had  gone,  Joseph  Dooran 
closed  the  book  he  had  been  reading,  placed  it  with 


THE  PRIEST  131 

three  other  borrowed  volumes,  tied  them  up,  and 
summoned  his  stable-man. 

"  Dennis,"  he  said,  "  take  these  books  to  Father 
Hanlon  to-morrow  morning." 


XV 

As  soon  as  Father  Hanlon  recovered  from  his 
injury,  he  busied  himself  with  preparations  for 
the  dedication  of  the  humble  church  which  he  had 
built.  To  his  great  delight,  Bishop  Shy  me  had 
told  him  that  he  would  be  unable  to  be  present  at 
the  dedication.  Ambrose  felt  a  repugnance  for 
the  elaborate  ritual  of  a  pontifical  service,  and  was 
happy  in  the  anticipation  of  a  simple  ceremony. 
A  large  number  of  the  non.-Catholics  of  Axton 
would  be  there,  for  they  had  come  to  regard  the 
quiet,  cultivated  young  pastor  with  great  respect. 
Several  of  them  were  regular  attendants  at  his  ser 
vices,  drawn  by  his  earnest,  unpretending  elo 
quence.  For  their  sakes  too  he  was  glad  that  the 
bishop  was  not  coming.  He  dreaded  the  effect 
upon  them  of  the  grotesque  ceremonial  of  a  mass 
"  coram  pontifice." 

The  building  of  his  little  chapel  had  bound 
Father  Hanlon  very  closely  to  Axton.  The  pros 
pect  of  many  years  with  his  simple  flock  pleased 
him  with  a  great  content.  Surely,  he  often  re 
flected,  it  is  best  for  me  to  stay  with  my  people. 
I  am  helping  them.  I  am  doing  a  certain  and  sure 
good.  Why,  then,  venture  forth  with  the  liberal 
Catholics,  incur  disgrace,  abandon  this  scene  of 
service,  and  perhaps  do  more  harm  than  good  by 
openly  agitating  for  reforms  which  our  generation 
shall  not  see?  This  manner  of  thinking  was  only 
a  half-solace,  however;  for  that  imperious,  that 

new,  that  awful  Truth  of  which  he  had  lately 
132 


THE  PRIEST  133 

learned  the  meaning  would  not  still  its  voice.  But 
a  half-solace  was  better  than  none;  and  as  his 
church  took  shape  before  his  eyes,  he  was  fain  to 
dwell  fondly  on  his  future  ministry  there;  on  the 
children  he  would  instruct;  the  afflicted  he  would 
comfort;  the  dead  over  whom  he  would  chant  the 
requiem.  It  was  a  sweet  and  inviting  anticipation, 
and  he  found  his  highest  happiness  in  contemplat 
ing  it. 

One  evening  a  fortnight  before  the  dedication, 
he  found  on  his  desk  when  he  returned  from  over 
seeing  the  workmen  at  the  chapel,  a  note  in  Bishop 
Shyrne's  own  hand,  summoning  him  to  the  episco 
pal  residence  without  delay.  "  I  hope  he  has  not 
changed  his  mind  about  coming,"  said  Ambrose, 
as  he  turned  to  his  ever  ready  books. 

The  next  afternoon  he  knocked  at  the  door  of 
the  bishop's  study  and  entered  in  response  to  the 
high-pitched  "  Come  in !  " 

The  priest  knelt  and  kissed  the  episcopal  ring, 
and  said  pleasantly: 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Bishop.  I  hope  you  are 
well." 

The  bishop  made  no  answer,  but  took  a  letter 
from  his  desk,  handed  it  to  Father  Hanlon  and 
said :  "  Read  that  and  give  an  account  of  your 
self." 

This  meant  trouble,  and  Father  Hanlon's  pale 
face  grew  paler.  His  hand  trembled  as  he  took 
the  letter,  and  a  physical  weakness  came  upon  him 
before  he  read  a  word.  He  sat  down,  though  he 


134  THE  PRIEST 

had  not  been  asked  to  do  so,  and  read  as  follows: 

Right  reverend  and  dear  Bishop, 

For  some  time  I  have  thought  of  writing  you  on 
the  painful  subj  ect  which  I  am  about  to  bring  to  your 
notice,  but  refrained  from  doing  so  lest  I  injure  a 
brother  priest  without  sufficient  justification.  But 
my  conscience  will  not  allow  me  to  keep  silence  any 
longer.  You,  as  bearing  the  chief  responsibility  of 
the  pastoral  office  in  this  diocese,  ought  to  know  the 
matter  of  which  I  write ;  and  I  deem  it  my  duty,  irre 
spective  of  human  considerations,  to  give  you  the  fol 
lowing  information. 

Father  Hanlon  of  Axton,  I  most  deeply  regret  to 
say,  has  fallen  into  a  deplorable  state  of  mind  regard 
ing  the  faith.  He  has  become  intimate  with  the  Uni 
tarian  minister  of  Axton  —  a  thorough  rationalist, — 
has  done  an  enormous  amount  of  dangerous  reading 
in  books  which  this  minister  has  lent  him,  and  is  now 
infected  with  higher  criticism,  semi-rationalism,  and 
liberal  Catholicism.  How  entirely  out  of  sympathy 
he  is  with  the  traditional  theology  of  the  Church  you 
may  gather  from  the  fact  that  he  burned  two  vol 
umes  of  Suarez,  as  books  unworthy  of  a  man  of  mod 
ern  views.  This  I  learned  from  his  own  lips. 

It  pains  me  to  write  this.  We  all  remember  Am 
brose  Hanlon  as  up  to  a  year  ago  our  brightest 
young  man,  full  of  promise,  and  a  man  of  prayer. 
He  is  terribly  changed;  so  changed  that  I  fear  the 
very  worst  for  him.  Surely,  dear  Bishop,  this  is  a 
matter  that  you  ought  to  know.  Perhaps  you  may 
be  able  to  avert  the  disaster  that  I  fear. 

Trusting   that  you   will  understand   the   spirit   in 
which  I  write  these  sorrowful  lines,  I  am 
Yours  with  filial  respect, 

JOSEPH  DOORAN. 


THE  PRIEST  135 

P.  S. —  I  cannot  say  to  what  extent  Father  Han- 
Ion  has  had  an  evil  influence  on  his  parishioners;  but 
I  cannot  help  suspecting  that  his  sermons  have  shown 
of  late  a  spirit  that  is  far  from  being  genuinely 
Catholic.  J.  D. 

As  soon  as  Ambrose  finished  reading  this  letter, 
he  laid  it  upon  the  desk.  He  could  no  more  have 
held  it  longer  in  his  hand  than  he  could  have  held 
a  snake. 

"  Well,  sir?  "  came  the  bishop's  sharp  staccato. 

Father  Hanlon,  trying  desperately  to  be  calm, 
said  after  a  moment  in  a  low,  even  voice: 

"  I  hope  the  man  who  wrote  that  letter  was  sin 
cere.  I  will  not  judge  his  motives.  I  will  only 
say  that  it  would  be  easy  for  you  to  derive  from 
his  charges  an  opinion  of  me  which  would  be  ut 
terly  unjust."  » 

"  A  pretty  weak  defence !  A  pretty  weak  de 
fence  !  "  said  the  bishop  with  curling  lip.  "  Now, 
sir,"  he  went  on,  "  answer  me  these  specific  ques 
tions.  Did  you  burn  two  volumes  of  Suarez?  " 

"  I  gave  them  to  my  landlord,  and  I  think  he 
burned  them.  I  told  him  to  do  so,"  answered 
Hanlon. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that,  sir?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  frankly  why  I  did  it,"  was  the 
priest's  response.  "  I  spent  six  years  studying 
metaphysical  theology,  almost  entirely  to  the  neg 
lect  of  positive  and  critical  theological  learning. 
I  thought  that  the  whole  world  of  the  intellect 
could  be  packed  into  the  syllogisms  of  Suarez  or 


136  THE  PRIEST 

of  the  Summa.  Lately  I  have  discovered  that  this 
education  of  mine  was  scandalously  inadequate. 
I  found  that  I  was  ignorant  of  a  vast  amount  of 
historical  work  that  has  been  done  in  modern  times 
in  the  field  of  theology.  I  was  an  infant,  a  fool, 
in  the  presence  of  a  man  of  modern  education.  So 
angry  was  I  on  waking  up  to  this  state  of  things 
that  in  a  moment  of  petulance,  I  took  Suarez' 
*  De  Angelis '  from  my  shelf  and  had  it  flung  into 
the  fire.  It  was  childish,  I  suppose ;  but  the  provo 
cation  was  very  great." 

"  And  what  did  you  substitute  for  Suarez  ?  " 
The  bishop's  effort  not  to  lose  his  temper  was 
painfully  evident. 

"  Biblical  criticism  and  the  history  of  primitive 
Christianity,"  replied  Hanlon. 

"  Biblical  criticism !  "  repeated»his  lordship  con 
temptuously.  "  Biblical  rationalism  out  of  the 
books  of  German  infidels,  you  probably  mean." 

"  I  have  read  some  German  authors,"  acknowl 
edged  Hanlon.  "  To  any  man  who  would  become 
acquainted  with  modern  scholarship  in  this  depart 
ment  of  science,  the  work  done  by  German  investi 
gators  is  indispensable." 

"  Your  patron  saint,  I  dare  say,  is  Hermann 
Harnack  ?  "  sneered  the  successor  of  the  apostles. 

"  I  have  never  heard  of  Hermann  Harnack." 

"  Ho !  Ho !  Ho !  You  are  a  fine  rationalist 
never  to  have  heard  of  the  great  high  priest  of 
infidel  criticism." 

"  He  is  wholly  unknown  to  me,"  said  Ambrose ; 


THE  PRIEST  137 

"  though  I  have  read  several  writings  of  a  name 
sake  of  his  called  Adolf  Harnack." 

"  Hm !  "  said  the  bishop.  "  Now  what  about  this 
Unitarian  minister?  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours?  " 

"  He  is." 

"You  visit  him?" 

"  I  do." 

"  You  read  his  books  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  think  that  proper  in  a  Catholic  priest?" 

"  I  can  see  no  crime  or  impropriety  in  it." 

"  Then  you  must  be  given  a  few  lessons  in  what 
constitutes  priestly  propriety.  Now,  finally,  sir, 
to  what  extent  have  you  spread  your  new  views 
and  your  un-Catholic  spirit  among  your  people? 
Answer  me  on  your  honor." 

"  Bishop  Shyrne,"  replied  Hanlon  warmly ;  "  to 
accuse  me  of  disseminating  among  my  parishion 
ers  any  views  which  would  in  the  least  disturb 
them,  is  an  outrageous  injustice.  That  insinua 
tion  is  what  makes  Dooran's  letter  to  you  abomin 
able  and  wicked.  I  preach  the  Gospel  to  my 
people  to  the  best  of  my  power.  I  am  their  priest, 
not  their  schoolmaster;  and  I  have  never  uttered 
in  the  presence  of  a  single  Catholic  in  Axton, 
opinions  about  which  students  and  critics  are  de 
bating.  I  cannot  allow  you  or  any  other  man  to 
make  this  charge  of  treachery  and  dishonor 
against  me." 

"  Let  that  pass,"  said  the  relentless  prelate ; 
"  you  have  done  enough  without  it  to  call  for  the 


138  THE  PRIEST 

severest  rebuke  that  I  can  give.  You  have  not 
been  a  faithful  priest.  You  have  not  been  true 
to  your  vocation.  You  have  ruined  the  bright 
prospects  that  lay  before  you.  You  have  pained 
and  disappointed  me  grievously.  You  must 
change  at  once  sir,  for  you  are  rushing  headlong 
into  temporal  and  eternal  disaster.  For  the  pres 
ent  my  orders  are  these.  Remember  them  and  obey 
them:  For  the  space  of  six  months  you  will  read 
no  rationalist  criticism.  You  must  begin  to  take 
measures  for  breaking  off  your  intimacy  with  that 
Unitarian  minister.  And  finally  you  shall  not  say 
mass  till  next  Sunday.  To-day  is  Wednesday,  and 
I  suspend  you  for  the  remainder  of  this  week. 
Moreover  I  shall  be  present  at  the  dedication  of 
your  church  a  week  from  Sunday.  I  must  look 
over  the  ground  myself.  I  will  not  remove  you 
now  from  Axton,  though  I  should  be  amply  justi 
fied  in  doing  so.  Your  days  there,  however,  are 
numbered.  That  is  all  sir ;  please  leave  the  house." 
Poor  Ambrose!  He,  the  soul  of  fidelity;  he, 
the  unstained  mirror  of  honor;  he,  the  guileless 
youth  that  invested  all  men  with  the  virtues  of 
his  own  heart,  a  calumniated  outcast,  a  suspended 
priest!  Almost  crying  aloud  for  pain  he  strode 
the  city  streets  in  the  fast-falling  gloom  of  the 
winter  night,  with  his  eyes  closed  to  all  save  the 
crushing  weight  upon  his  own  heart.  He  stumbled 
into  several  persons,  he  was  twice  under  the  hoofs 
of  horses  at  crossings,  but  he  minded  not.  He 
neither  saw  the  angry  looks  of  those  whom  he 


THE  PRIEST  139 

struck  against,  nor  heard  the  imprecation  of  the 
drivers  who  had  nearly  run  him  down.  Nothing 
he  knew  except  that  he  was  disgraced,  that  he  was 
foully  dealt  with,  that  he  was  shipwrecked  in  the 
mid-ocean  of  despair.  On  he  walked  rapidly, 
rapidly.  The  streets  into  which  he  had  come  were 
no  longer  the  brilliant  thoroughfares  of  trade,  but 
dark  and  ill-kept  alleys.  It  was  nothing  to  him. 
Down  one  gloomy  lane  and  up  another,  but  he 
could  not  leave  his  grief  behind.  His  work  gone 
for  naught !  His  pure  life  rewarded  with  the  pun 
ishment  which  the  canons  of  the  church  reserve  for 
the  reprobate  and  criminal!  Of  what  use  to  do 
one's  duty?  Of  what  avail  to  bear  the  sacerdotal 
burden  ? 

Confusedly,  sluggishly,  it  dawned  upon  him 
that  a  man  had  grasped  his  arm  and  was  saying 
something;  that  he  was  being  pushed  toward  that 
door  behind  which  were  sounds  of  revelry.  He 
was  quite  across  the  threshold  before  he  came  to 
himself.  A  huge  fellow  had  him  by  the  arm.  A 
deep  voice  was  saying:  "  Come  in  old  man,  an' 
drown  yer  sorrer!  Make  a  night  of  it  with  the 
boys  an*  gals !  Set  'em  up  for  th'  crowd !  "  Am 
brose  looked  at  the  man  with  eyes  wild  with  terror 
and  drew  back  from  him.  Then  he  glanced  down 
the  room,  his  heart  racing  with  the  speed  of  mortal 
fright.  A  dozen  men  were  standing  at  the  bar; 
four  or  five  others,  with  as  many  rakish  women, 
were  seated  at  small  tables. 

"  Come  in,  honey,"  called  one  of  the  women. 


140  THE  PRIEST 

"  Come  on,  pardner,"  said  the  man  beside  him, 
"  make  a  night  of  it  with  th'  boys  an'  gals.  Come 
up  an'  fetch  'im,  Liz,"  he  called  out  to  a  lewd 
creature  who  was  sitting  on  the  knee  of  a  grizzly 
roue. 

"  Sure ! "  answered  the  wastrel  thus  addressed, 
jumping  to  her  feet  and  running  toward  Ambrose. 

With  white  face  the  young  priest  dashed  to  the 
door.  The  man  that  had  led  him  into  the  den 
attempted  to  stay  him;  but  the  sharp  knuckles 
of  a  small  fist  struck  him  full  in  the  mouth  and 
sent  him  cut  and  bleeding  to  the  floor.  With  foul 
obscenity  ringing  in  his  ears  and  a  wild  tumult 
of  horrible  things  raging  in  his  heart,  Father  Han- 
Ion  ran  for  his  life  —  for  more  than  his  life.  He 
jumped  into  a  cab  that  stood  at  a  corner,  men 
tioned  a  well-known  hotel  to  the  driver,  and  sank 
back  on  the  seat,  sick,  faint  and  afraid. 


XVI 

As  Father  Hanlon  was  about  to  write  his  name 
on  the  hotel  register  he  glanced  at  the  last  few 
names  just  above  his  own,  and  in  an  ecstasy  of 
joy  saw  among  them  in  the  bold  hand  that  he 
knew  so  well,  "  Josiah  Danforth."  A  hurried  in 
quiry  from  the  clerk  brought  the  information  that 
Mr.  Danforth  had  gone  out  and  would  not  be 
back  until  after  his  lecture  that  night.  Ambrose 
ordered  supper,  which  he  scarcely  touched,  looked 
through  an  evening  paper  where  he  saw  the  ad 
vertisement  of  Danforth's  lecture  on  "  Some 
Higher  Aspects  of  Patriotism,"  and  set  out  for  the 
hall  named  in  the  announcement.  He  arrived 
there  half  an  hour  ahead  of  time,  and  found  the 
great  auditorium  already  so  nearly  filled  that  he 
could  only  get  a  place  in  the  second  last  row  of 
seats.  Laying  aside  his  troubles  for  the  time,  he 
looked  over  the  great  throng  on  the  floor  and  in 
the  galleries  which  ran  along  three  sides  of  the 
hall,  and  yielded  himself  to  the  reflections  which 
the  striking  scene  inspired.  A  crowd  always 
deeply  moved  him.  It  conveyed  to  him  some  subtle 
spiritual  magnetism.  It  elevated  and  thrilled  him. 
It  acted  upon  him  as  the  distant  thunder  of  battle 
acts  upon  a  charger.  He  always  felt,  even  when 
he  was  merely  an  indistinguishable  unit  in  such 
an  audience,  that  he  would  like  to  rise  before  them, 
pour  out  his  soul  in  advocacy  of  some  great  prin 
ciple,  lead  them,  control  them,  consecrate  them, 
141 


THE  PRIEST 

to  the  ideal  for  which  he  pleaded.  He  felt  this 
now.  How  he  would  like  to  face  this  multitude 
from  that  stage  and  unlock  the  flood-gates  of  his 
heart!  Justice!  He  would  tell  them  of  it,  until 
they  would  rise  up  en  masse  to  take  the  oath  of 
a  new  knighthood,  pledging  themselves  never  to 
follow  any  but  a  just  and  righteous  cause.  In 
justice!  He  would  sear  their  souls  with  words 
of  fire  denouncing  it,  until  their  latent  hatred  of 
wrong,  and  oppression,  and  foul  dealing,  would 
rise  as  rises  the  earth  in  the  irresistible  earthquake 
to  bring  down  every  seat  of  tyranny  and  every 
temple  of  autocracy  in  irretrievable  collapse.  He 
would  form  in  the  breasts  of  these  three  thousand 
men  and  women,  a  public  opinion  so  pure,  so  po 
tent,  that  before  the  very  look  of  their  eyes,  the 
cruel  wielders  of  irresponsible  power  would  run 
like  rats  for  cover.  Oh!  to  create  in  the  funda 
mentally  good,  but  constitutionally  indolent  hearts 
of  men,  this  flaming  love  of  the  Ideal!  this  in 
vincible  resolve  to  uncover  hypocrisy  and  crush 
to  death  every  one  of  its  crawling  species!  Oh! 
to  lift  this  audience  and  a  thousand  other  similar 
audiences  from  end  to  end  of  the  country,  to  their 
feet,  make  them  raise  their  right  hands  to  God, 
and  utter  the  vows  of  Justice,  Purity  and  Truth! 
Perhaps  he  would  some  day  do  it.  A  wild  hope 
lit  up  his  heart  at  the  thought,  but  it  died  out  in  a 
moment  as  a  meteor  in  the  night.  Impossible! 
Impossible !  But  how  divine  a  vocation !  Miss 
Wakefield  had  once  suggested  a  vocation  for  him 


THE  PRIEST  143 

something  like  this,  only  now  his  soaring  thought 
was  glorifying  and  expanding  her  idea  until  it 
shone  with  a  light  as  far-reaching  as  the  bound 
aries  of  the  Kingdom  of  God. 

A  storm  of  applause  brought  him  back  to  earth. 
He  looked  up  and  saw  Danforth  walking  to  the 
front  of  the  stage.  With  great  love  the  priest 
looked  at  his  friend.  How  noble  he  was,  this  Uni 
tarian  mystic!  How  full  of  soul  those  straight 
forward  eyes!  How  vast  a  store  of  saving  and 
regenerating  thought  behind  that  commanding 
brow!  In  low  tones,  which,  however,  traveled  to 
the  farthest  parts  of  the  hall,  Danforth  began  his 
address.  There  could  be  no  intelligent  and  high- 
minded  love  of  country,  he  said,  which  did  not  rest 
upon  an  adequate  understanding  of  what  one's 
flag  and  nation  represented  in  the  region  of  the 
spirit.  Prosperity  is  good,  but  man  does  not  live 
by  bread  alone.  Extensive  territory  is  a  desirable 
possession,  but  mere  bigness  has  no  rank  in  any 
category  of  ethics.  Freedom  of  speech  and  press 
is  a  precious  blessing,  but  it  is  the  condition  rather 
than  the  achievement  of  national  nobility.  Only 
in  the  order  of  the  Ideal,  only  in  the  realm  of  spirit  / 
may  be  read  the  truest  and  highest  message  which  y\ 
the  shield  of  our  Republic  displays  to  the  world. 
Free  individuality,  free  personality,  a  free  soul; 
men  in  love  with  spiritual  freedom ;  women  devoted 
to  the  holiest  purposes ;  children  indoctrinated  with 
the  gospel  of  the  Kingdom  of  Character  —  this  is 
America's  meaning,  this  the  light  from  above  in 


144.  THE  PRIEST 

which  shines  every  star  and  gleams  every  stripe 
in  our  country's  banner. 

Thoroughly  impassioned  with  the  ardor  of  his 
theme,  Danforth  developed  the  meaning  of  con 
science  and  the  sense  of  responsibility,  showed 
that  in  the  new  patriotism  enshrined  in  this  home 
of  liberty,  conscience  replaced  the  blind  attach 
ments  of  lesser  patriotisms,  was  the  very  altar-fire 
in  the  temple  of  our  country,  the  bond  of  our 
union,  the  hope  of  our  progress,  the  glory  of  our 
strength.  "  America,"  he  cried,  "  rejects  and  de 
spises  the  barbaric  courage  of  conquest,  but  she 
calls  for,  lives  by,  and  consecrates  the  courage 
of  conscience.  If  some  future  historian  shall  ever 
write  the  history  of  our  decline  and  fall,  it  will 
not  be  because  our  boundless  acres  have  refused 
to  yield  their  harvests,  or  our  opulent  mines  their 
treasures,  but  because  we  have  abandoned  the  in 
tegrity  of  principle  and  forgotten  how  to  strive 
and  suffer  in  the  sacred  cause  of  conscience." 

He  then  gave  a  masterly  analysis  of  conscience 
as  the  inner  oracle  and  true  revelation  of  Deity, 
and  uttered  grave  warning  with  the  solemn  au 
thority  of  a  prophet  against  the  dangers  which 
threaten  to  destroy  its  primacy  ordained  of  God. 
Conscience  in  the  man  of  state,  in  the  wealthy 
classes,  in  the  laborer,  in  the  wife  and  mother,  in 
the  church,  he  delineated  in  words  of  impressive 
power,  words  that  scorned  all  fear.  He  touched 
upon  what  he  called  the  "  apostolate  of  conscien 
tious  patriotism,"  the  life  of  service,  help  for  the 


THE  PRIEST  146 

weak,  assistance  for  the  unfortunate,  wise  guidance 
for  the  immigrant,  public  movements  and  out 
spoken  denunciations  against  subtle  treason,  or 
ganized  disturbances  of  peace  and  justice,  and 
all  hypocrisy  and  the  spirit  of  disdainful  aristoc 
racy.  His  peroration  pictured  America  as  lead 
ing  mankind  into  an  emancipated  and  regenerated 
age,  wherein  the  prayers  of  our  founders  should 
be  answered,  and  our  flag  the  symbol  of  a  race 
that  was  disciplined  to  righteousness,  profoundly 
impressed  with  the  sense  of  its  predestined  high 
vocation,  examplars  of  spiritual  liberty  who  bent 
the  knee  but  to  Justice,  Truth  and  Love,  and  to 
God  who  is  all  in  all. 

It  was  a  great  triumph.  The  impress  of  the 
speaker  and  the  speech  sank  deep  into  every  heart. 
He  had  set  his  audience  aglow  with  moral  enthusi 
asm  ;  he  had  broken  down  every  sordid  barrier  that 
hid  the  Ideal  from  their  eyes;  he  had  given  them 
a  glimpse  of  the  shining  stars  in  the  high  heaven 
of  the  soul  of  man.  Again  and  again  they  cheered 
him.  Hundreds  rushed  to  the  stage  to  greet  him ; 
but  he  had  gone.  The  words  of  almost  religious 
veneration  that  were  upon  every  lip  he  had  not 
stayed  to  hear. 

A  few  minutes  later  Ambrose  entered  Danforth's 
room  and  affectionately  embraced  him.  "  Jo,"  he 
said,  "  your  prophet's  lips  have  touched  the  heav 
enly  fire.  That  speech  was  a  cry  from  the  unseen. 
It  struck  into  our  souls  with  the  inspiration  and 
authority  of  Divinity." 


146  THE  PRIEST 

"  You  are  too  kind,  Ambrose,"  deprecated  the 
minister;  "  Do  you  think  it  did  them  any  good?  " 

"  Any  good?  Why  to-night  is  the  acceptable 
time,  the  day  of  salvation  for  those  people,"  ex 
claimed  Hanlon,  quite  beside  himself  with  admira 
tion. 

"  Sit  down,  Ambrose,  and  we'll  have  a  fine  talk," 
said  Danforth.  "  You  have  not  given  me  a  chance 
to  say  how  surprised  and  delighted  I  am  to  see 
you." 

"  Jo,"  said  Hanlon,  refusing  to  change  the  sub 
ject;  "  tell  me  how  it  feels  to  make  a  speech  like 
that." 

"  Well,"  answered  Danforth ;  "  since  you  insist 
on  talking  about  the  matter,  I  must  say  that  after 
the  joy  of  facing  an  audience  such  as  we  had  to 
night,  there  comes  to  me  a  sense  of  sorrow. 
Granted  that  these  people  have  been  momentarily 
lifted  up,  what  will  sustain  them?  It  is  not  enough 
to  preach  ideals;  you  must  give  people  ways  and 
means  of  holding  fast  to  them.  And  just  here 
is  where  I  have  doubts  about  the  permanence  of 
my  work,  or  of  any  other  earnest  man's  work. 
The  individual  preaches  an  ideal ;  only  a  system,  an 
organization  apparently  can  conserve  it.  The 
mighty  strength  of  the  Catholic  Church  lies  pre 
cisely  in  this.  Its  immemorial  history,  its  vast 
size,  its  wealth  of  saintly  traditions,  all  form  an 
incomparable  protection  for  the  spiritual  treasure 
of  the  Gospel.  Men  may  fall  away ;  prophets  and 
saints  may  die;  but  there  stands  the  ancient  sys- 


THE  PRIEST  147 

tern  in  which  the  memory  of  past  prophets  and 
saints  is  kept  forever  fresh;  and  a  corporate  body 
that  never  forgets  its  old  saints  will  never  be  with 
out  new  saints.  Ambrose,  the  more  I  reflect  upon 
your  church,  the  more  amazed  I  am  at  its  hardly 
human  power  and  efficiency." 

"  Did  you  ever,"  asked  Father  Hanlon,  "  con 
sider  it  probable  that  you  might  become  a  Catho 
lic?  " 

"  Never,"  came  the  instant  response.  "  I  have 
often  looked  wistfully  toward  the  ancient  faith  of 
Christendom,  but  I  think  it  impossible  that  I  shall 
ever  feel  any  call  of  conscience  to  join  it.  Its  mys 
tical  resources,  its  unparalleled  power  to  cultivate 
the  inner  life,  make  me  venerate  it.  But  I  can 
go  no  farther." 

"  Let  me  a  little  more  deeply  into  your  thought," 
said  the  priest.  "  You  say  that  ideals  can  be  per 
petuated  only  by  a  system.  You  admit  that  Cathol 
icism  as  a  conserving  system  is  incomparable,  but 
inadmissible.  What  system  then  are  we  to  have?  " 

"  Ah !  there  is  the  perplexity,"  answered  Dan- 
forth.  "  Look  at  the  history  of  spiritual  ideals. 
They  begin  with  some  prophet  raised  up  by  God. 
He  arouses  the  conscience  and  stimulates  the  as 
pirations  of  humanity.  He  creates  a  movement 
and  dies.  His  message  will  die  with  him  unless 
an  organization  incorporates  it  and  enforces  it. 
The  third  stage  comes  when  the  message  is  largely 
lost  in  the  organization;  and  men  confuse  this  or-  «->- 
ganization  with  the  message.  The  original  living  /»*  ** 


148  THE  PRIEST 

word  is  then  supplanted  by  outward  forms.  Ex 
terior  conformity  takes  the  place  of  interior  re 
sponse,  and  a  new  prophet  must  arise.  Then  a 
new  system  succeeds  him,  and  so  the  process  goes. 
The  Old  Testament  prophets  were  replaced  by  the 
legalistic  system  of  Phariseeism.  Jesus  rescued 
the  pure  truth  of  God  from  the  mass  ritual  and 
law.  His  word  in  turn  was  incorporated  in  Cathol 
icism.  Catholicism  in  its  turn  was  broken  up  by 
the  reformers.  This  is  the  life-cycle  of  religion. 
My  hope  is  this:  That  spiritual  power  shall  be 
come  so  strong  and  pure  that  humanity  will  some 
day  enjoy  such  a  succession  of  prophetic  men  as 
will  dispense  with  the  necessity  of  systems  of  con 
servation,  which  sooner  or  later  become  systems 
of  destruction.  If  prophets  always  lived  the  or 
ganization  would  not  be  needed.  I  am  hoping  for 
a  time  when  the  school  of  prophets  will  never  be 
without  great  teachers  and  great  pupils.  The 
vocation  to  prophethood  will  replace  the  vocation 
to  priesthood.  But  the  prospect  of  this  is  sorrow 
fully  and  dreadfully  distant." 

The  two  men  remained  long  in  thoughtful  si 
lence.  Danforth  finally  said :  "  Ambrose,  you  are 
the  servant  of  a  mighty  religious  system.  Its  cor 
porate  power  re-enforces  your  work  tenfold.  As 
long  as  you  can  honestly  interpret  its  belief  in  the 
manner  of  a  liberal  Catholic,  remain  in  it,  strive 
to  purify  it,  and  adapt  it  to  modern  needs.  Per 
haps  after  all  it  may  be  the  old  faith  that  will  pro 
duce  the  new  race  of  prophets.  Catholicism  is  so 


THE  PRIEST  149 

warm  and  comforting  and  massively  fraternal! 
With  all  my  love  for  Unitarian  principles,  they 
seem  in  comparison  lonely  and  cold." 

"  Dear  friend,"  said  Father  Hanlon,  "  your 
words  find  me  in  a  strange  mood.  I  have  been 
rebellious  and  indignant  to-day.  Looking  upon 
a  personal  grievance,  I  have  lost  sight  of  those 
larger  views  which  you  suggest  to  me.  Let  me  tell 
you  my  poor  troubles,  and  give  me  the  benefit  of 
your  wise  counsel." 

Hanlon  then  recited  the  incidents  of  the  after 
noon.  When  he  had  finished  Danforth  said:  "  This 
is  very  serious.  It  forebodes,  I  fear,  a  persecu 
tion  of  you  which  will  destroy  your  peace  of  mind 
and  threaten  the  integrity  of  your  conscience. 
You  ought,  my  dear  Ambrose,  to  be  prepared  for 
the  worst.  If  such  a  persecution  comes,  if  any 
authority  attempts  to  annihilate  your  usefulness  or 
to  subvert  your  character,  your  duty  is  to  resist. 
For  no  man  and  no  cause  can  you  falsify  your 
conscience.  For  no  man  and  no  cause  can  you 
throw  away  your  personality,  life  and  vocation. 
The  development  of  personality,  as  so  often  we 
have  said  together,  is  the  supreme  end  of  religion. 
When  any  particular  form  of  religion  contravenes 
that  end,  we  must  abandon  that  form,  however 
firmly  fastened  in  our  affections  it  be." 

"  A  hard  saying,"  sighed  Ambrose ;  "  but  it  is 
the  truth  of  God." 

"  Come,  friend,"  said  Danforth,  after  a  period 
of  silence,  taking  the  priest's  arm ;  "  let  us  look 


150  THE  PRIEST 

up  from  the  distracting  mystery  of  earth  to  the 
divine  peace  of  heaven."  So  saying  he  threw  open 
the  window  and  they  gazed  up  at  the  stars.  The 
night  was  clear  and  the  sky  was  lavishly  showing 
forth  its  wealth  of  worlds.  Beneath  lay  the  city, 
wearing  a  look  of  tranquillity  for  all  the  glare  of 
street  lights  and  the  frequent  clang  of  cars. 

"  Ambrose,"  said  Danforth  in  a  low  tone,  "  can 
not  this  land  produce  prophets  as  well  as  free 
men?" 

"  It  has  already  produced  one,"  answered  the 
priest,  laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  his 
friend.  "  My  highest  hope  for  my  country  is  that 
she  shall  bear  sons  who  are  able  to  perpetuate 
your  message." 

"  It  is  you,  friend,"  Danforth  responded,  "  that 
have  the  really  difficult  vocation.  Providence  is 
shaping  your  life  for  suffering.  Clear  as  those 
stars  I  see  it.  When  the  hour  comes,  be  true  to 
Truth  and  to  the  outcast  Christ." 

A  few  minutes  more  they  looked  out  on  the 
night  in  silence. 

"  Good  night,"  said  Father  Hanlon. 

"  Good  night,"  the  minister  answered,  taking 
Hanlon's  hand,  and  with  their  hearts  full  of  un 
spoken  words,  they  parted. 


XVII 

The  clouds  were  lifted  from  Father  Hanlon's 
spirit  by  the  busy  preparations  for  his  church 
dedication.  Heretic,  rebel,  or  whatever  else  the 
bishop  might  be  pleased  to  consider  him,  at  least 
this  new  building  erected  and  fully  paid  for  in 
little  more  than  a  year,  was  a  proof  that  he  had 
not  been  idle,  and  that  his  people  loved  him.  It 
was,  therefore  with  a  goodly  measure  of  joy,  even 
with  some  sense  of  mild  triumph,  that  he  made 
ready  for  the  ceremony.  Perhaps  in  the  good 
cheer  of  the  occasion,  he  might  after  all  be  fra 
ternally  forgiven,  and  restored  to  episcopal  favor. 
An  uneasy  feeling  lurked  in  the  farther  corner  of 
Ambrose's  mind  that  even  if  so  happy  an  issue  re 
sulted,  the  future  held  in  waiting,  not  peace  but 
agitation  and  calamity.  But  this  dark  menace 
he  tried  sturdily  to  repress.  Carpe  diem!  Let 
him  keep  this  day  of  his  own  and  his  people's  hap 
piness  unmixed  with  fears  and  evil  omens.  Almost 
blithely,  then,  and  with  the  frequent  lilt  of  nearly 
forgotten  songs  upon  his  lips,  he  set  about  the 
business  before  him.  One  stern  task  he  resolved, 
however,  to  accomplish  as  soon  as  the  ceremony 
was  at  an  end.  He  would  approach  Dooran  and 
demand  an  explanation  of  his  cowardly:  letter. 
Dooran  would  be  present  at  the  dedication,  there 
was  little  doubt  of  that;  for  he  rarely  missed  an 
episcopal  function.  And  the  interview  that  would 
take  place  Ambrose  took  a  grim  pleasure  in  antici- 
151 


152  THE  PRIEST 

pating.  It  would  be  an  interview  that  Dooran 
would  not  soon  forget.  Had  he  known  of  Dooran's 
coming  promotion  to  the  coadjutorship  of  the 
diocese,  his  expectations  would  doubtless  have  been 
of  different  temper. 

There  were  a  thousand  details  to  look  after  in 
connection  with  the  dedication.  The  poor  little 
rustics  of  altar-boys  had  to  be  drilled  in  the  com 
plex  manreuvres  of  an  episcopal  mass ;  singers 
must  be  procured  from  other  parishes  to  augment 
his  own  scanty  and  uncertain  choir;  every  element 
and  instrument  of  the  approaching  function  must 
be  provided  and  in  its  proper  place ;  —  the  ewer 
and  basin  for  washing  the  bishop's  hands,  the  holy 
water  vessel  and  sprinkler,  the  candlestick  and 
candle  to  be  held  beside  the  missal  while  the  right 
reverend  functionary  read  or  sang  the  prayers; 
no  end  of  the  things  to  be  thought  of  and  made 
ready.  One  detail  Ambrose  reflected  on  with  some 
anxiety.  Would  the  bishop  put  on  his  vestments 
privately  in  the  sacristy,  or  would  he,  as  indeed 
the  ceremonial  directed,  vest  in  presence  of  the 
people,  taking  the  various  sacred  garments  from 
the  altar?  An  odd  sight,  this  public  vesting  of  a 
bishop!  While  the  great  man  sits  facing  the 
people,  a  priest  takes  off  the  shoes  of  his  lordship 
and  puts  upon  his  feet  the  embroidered  slippers 
of  a  color  corresponding  to  the  church-feast  of  the 
day,  white,  red  or  purple,  as  the  case  may  be. 
Then  the  bishop  thrusts  himself  into  several  tunics 
one  after  the  other,  the  attending  priests  all  the 


THE  PRIEST  153 

while  serving  as  his  flunkeys.  The  outer  chasuble 
is  at  last  cast  over  him,  gloves  are  drawn  upon  his 
hands,  the  fantastic  mitre  placed  on  his  head,  the 
gilded  staff  given  into  his  left  hand,  and  like  some 
Oriental  potentate,  the  successor  of  the  Apostles 
begins  his  regal  procession  to  the  foot  of  the  altar 
to  confess  himself  a  sinner. 

Ambrose  heartily  hoped  that  Bishop  Shyrne 
would  do  all  this  clothing  of  himself  in  the  privacy 
of  the  sacristy.  Many  non-Catholics,  friends  of 
the  young  pastor,  and  through  him  benevolently 
disposed  towards  the  Catholic  Church,  would  be 
present,  and  if  they  were  to  see  all  this  fussing 
and  fixing  they  would  be  sorely  perplexed,  and 
some  of  them  doubtless  irreverently  amused.  Am 
brose  thought  of  this  until  he  became  quite  horri 
fied  at  the  possibilities  of  the  situation.  He  was 
highly  sensitive  to  ridicule ;  yet  he  was  to  be  master 
of  ceremonies  and  would  be  the  chief  flunkey  in 
the  business  of  robing  and  disrobing  the  bishop. 
Would  his  non-Catholic  friends  not  think  him  ludi 
crous?  How  could  he  explain  to  them  the  far 
fetched  symbolism  of  the  affair?  Slight  as  the 
vexation  was  in  itself,  he  became  greatly  concerned 
about  it  and  resolved  to  ask  the  bishop  to  vest  in 
the  sacristy. 

Last  but  not  least  of  the  preparations  was  the 
dinner.  Ambrose  impressed  upon  the  mind  of 
Nahum  Cuttle  that  Axton  Hotel  must  outdo  itself. 
Nahum,  a  New  Englander  to  the  heart's  core,  was 
not  easily  excited,  but  excited  he  became  as  his 


154  THE  PRIEST 

young  clerical  guest  enlarged  upon  the  magnitude 
of  the  event  and  the  extent  to  which  the  reputation 
of  Nahum  and  of  Axton  would  on  that  day  be  for 
ever  enhanced  or  lost.  Covers  were  to  be  laid  for 
fifteen,  and  in  order  that  an  aristocratic  service 
be  furnished,  a  chef  and  two  negro  waiters  were 
to  be  brought  from  the  city.  The  plans  for  both 
the  secular  and  the  sacred  features  of  the  celebra 
tion  were  at  last  perfected,  and  Father  Hanlon 
sat  down  to  await  a  momentous  day  in  his  life. 

The  bishop  did  not  arrive  on  Saturday  evening, 
much  to  Father  Hanlon's  chagrin.  It  was  clear 
that  his  lordship  wished  to  spend  as  little  time  as 
possible  as  the  guest  of  the  pastor  of  Axton.  Not 
until  ten  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning,  within  half 
an  hour  of  the  time  set  for  the  service,  did  the 
Right  Reverend  Sebastian  Shyrne  put  in  an  ap 
pearance.  At  that  hour,  when  Ambrose  had  fallen 
into  a  fever  of  anxiety  lest  he  should  not  come  at 
all,  he  drove  up  to  the  church  in  Joseph  Dooran's 
carriage,  engaged  in  earnest  conversation  with  that 
gentleman  who  sat  beside  him.  Merely  nodding 
to  Father  Hanlon,  he  entered  the  church,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  make  preparations  for  vesting. 

"  Bishop,"  said  Ambrose,  "  may  I  suggest  that 
you  vest  in  the  sacristy?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that,  sir?  Do  you  not 
know  that  it  is  unrubrical  ?  "  was  the  sharp  reply. 

"  I  know  it  is  unrubrical,  sir,"  responded  Father 
Hanlon,  a  pallor  coming  into  his  cheeks ;  "  but 
many  bishops  do  it,  and  moreover  there  is  a  large 


THE  PRIEST  155 

number  of  Protestants  here  to-day  who  would  not 
understand  the  public  exhibition  of  putting  on  the 
vestments,  and  might  be  scandalized  at  it.  They 
are  accustomed  to  a  simpler  ceremonial." 

There  was  an  unpleasant  glitter  in  the  bishop's 
eye  as  he  retorted  in  a  low  voice: 

"  I  will  not  tolerate  your  heresy  much  longer, 
sir.  Lead  the  way  to  the  sanctuary  at  once." 

So  the  vesting  took  place  before  the  altar  in 
sight  of  all;  and  the  simple  folk  of  the  Puritan 
village  were  vastly  amazed  at  the  elaborateness 
of  it.  Tears  of  anger  found  their  way  into  Father 
Hanlon's  eyes  as  he  assisted  the  bishop  into  one 
garment  after  another.  "  Folly  and  supersti 
tion  !  "  he  kept  saying  to  himself,  and  in  his  soul 
were  great  weariness  and  disgust.  He  was  not 
helped  to  a  calmer  mind  by  the  very  evil  temper 
of  the  chief  functionary.  "  What  have  you  done 
with  my  gloves  ?  Give  me  that  crozier  and  be  quick 
about  it !  Don't  stand  there  like  a  fool ! "  were 
some  of  the  remarks  addressed  to  him  by  the 
bishop,  and  they  stung  like  a  lash.  Here  he  was 
with  a  mind  emancipated,  with  a  loftier  concep 
tion  of  religion  than  any  buried  beneath  this  taw 
dry  symbolism,  ordered  about  and  snapped  at  by 
this  ignorant  fellow,  so  far  beneath  him  in  all  save 
the  brutal  accident  of  hierarchical  authority!  It 
was  hard  to  endure  it,  but  endure  it  he  must  or 
aggravate  an  already  painful  situation. 

After  the  gospel  had  been  sung,  the  bishop 
preached.  He  congratulated  the  people  on  their 


156  THE  PRIEST 

new  church;  praised  their  hard  work  and  self- 
sacrifice,  and  told  them  that  he  was  proud  to  have 
such  Catholics  in  his  diocese.  Of  the  hard  work 
and  self-sacrifice  of  that  pale,  suffering  priest  who 
sat  before  him,  not  one  word !  Of  liis  nobility,  of 
his  zeal,  of  his  purity  of  motive,  not  a  mention! 
The  bishop  next  launched  forth  into  the  subject 
of  faith.  We  are  living  in  a  faithless  age,  he  said. 
Infidel  scholarship,  based  on  pride,  and  doomed  to 
perdition,  has  grown  up  around  us  and  is  attack 
ing  sacred  beliefs  that  are  ages  old.  The  simple 
faithful  must  be  on  the  watch.  They  must  know 
their  faith  and  instantly  rise  up  against  any  man, 
whatever  his  wisdom  or  his  position,  who  tries 
to  seduce  and  beguile  them  from  the  strict,  old- 
fashioned  faith  of  the  apostles.  Even  if  such  an 
insidious  teacher  appear  as  an  angel  of  light  the 
people  of  God  must  greet  him  with  but  one  word, 
Anathema ! 

After  half  an  hour  of  this  sort  of  thing,  the 
bishop,  with  a  side  glance  at  the  heart-broken  man 
who  had  been  the  target  of  it  all,  turned  to  the 
altar  and  unctuously  intoned  the  "  Credo."  Dur 
ing  the  remainder  of  the  mass  Ambrose  moved 
about  dazed,  heartsick,  and  in  the  depths  of  de 
spair.  The  door  as  of  a  living  tomb  seemed  to  be 
closing  in  upon  him.  It  was  not  yet  quite  shut, 
however,  and  a  way  was  still  open  to  an  unknown 
world,  but  a  cold  and  dark  world,  from  which,  not 
withstanding,  some  wild  call  of  freedom  fell  from 
the  distance  on  his  soul. 


THE  PRIEST  157 

At  the  end  of  the  mass  the  stately  procession 
filed  into  the  sacristy,  and  while  the  half  score  of 
visiting  priests  were  moving  about  in  the  crowded 
room  divesting  themselves  of  cassock  and  surplice, 
the  Reverend  Joseph  Dooran  clapped  his  hands  for 
silence.  Then  in  a  loud  voice  he  announced  that 
Bishop  Shyrne  was  to  dine  at  his  house  within  an 
hour,  and  cordially  invited  all  the  priests  present 
to  join  the  bishop  at  his  table. 

"  Father  Dooran,"  said  Ambrose,  in  an  unsteady 
voice ;  "  I  have  made  preparations  to  have  the 
bishop  and  the  priests  take  dinner  with  me  at  the 
hotel." 

"  Bishop  Shyrne  is  to  be  my  guest,  sir,"  an 
swered  Dooran  without  looking  at  Hanlon. 

At  this  moment  the  bishop  himself  entered  the 
sacristy.  He  had  been  kneeling  before  the  altar 
for  a  few  moments  of  prayer.  Ambrose  turned 
to  him  with  a  very  unusual  and  not  a  reassuring 
look  upon  his  face. 

"  Bishop,"  he  said,  "  I  am  expecting  you  and 
the  visiting  clergy  to  dinner  at  the  hotel." 

"  I  am  to  dine  with  Father  Dooran,  sir,  and  I 
expect  the  reverend  gentlemen  here  to  go  with 
me,"  was  the  bishop's  answer. 

"  But,  bishop,  this  is  not  customary.  I  have 
gone  to  considerable  trouble  and  expense  to  pre 
pare  the  hotel  for  your  coming." 

"  Can't  help  it,  sir,"  replied  the  bishop,  looking 
far  from  comfortable  as  he  fondled  his  pectoral 
cross.  The  other  priests  stood  listening  in  amaze 
ment. 


158  THE  PRIEST 

"  Bishop  Shyrne,"  said  Ambrose,  in  a  voice  that 
shook  no  longer ;  "  this  is  a  public  and  deliberate 
insult  to  me,  and  I  must  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  regard 
it,  and  every  decent  man  must  regard  it,  as  a  con 
temptible  outrage." 

"  I'll  attend  to  you  later,  sir.  Dooran,  call  your 
carriage."  With  this  his  lordship  swept  magnifi 
cently  out  of  the  sacristy.  The  priests  of  course 
departed  immediately  after  him,  and  Ambrose  was 
left  alone.  Leaning  upon  the  vestment-case  he 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  let  his  bruised 
heart  have  its  way.  He  knew  not  how  long  he  had 
stayed  there  when  he  heard  a  low  voice,  saying: 
"  Father  Hanlon."  He  rose  and  turned  a  pitiable 
face  to  his  visitor.  It  was  Dorothy  Wakefield. 
She  held  out  her  hand  and  said :  "  Dear,  dear 
friend,  I  will  not  intrude  now.  I  only  want  you 
to  know  that  I  understand,  and  that  I  suffer  with 
you."  Sweet  words !  Like  an  ointment  with  vir 
tue  to  heal,  they  fell  upon  the  priest's  lacerated 
heart.  He  said  nothing,  he  could  say  nothing, 
but  bent  his  head  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  her 
hand. 

Late  that  afternoon  Father  Hanlon  took  a 
train  for  the  city.  Not  that  he  had  business  there, 
but  he  wished  to  be  away  from  Axton  until  his 
mind  should  be  composed.  Sitting  in  the  car  he 
went  over  for  the  twentieth  time  the  incidents  of 
the  day.  Would  the  bishop  remove  him?  or  sus 
pend  him?  or  possibly  even  send  him  away  to  a 
monastery  to  do  penance  in  disgrace?  It  would 
be  hard  to  leave  Axton  now.  He  loved  his  people 


THE  PRIEST  159 

and  they  loved  him.  And  how  could  he  live  with 
out  Josiah  Danforth?  Ah,  what  a  friend  he  was.1 
how  noble ;  how  exalted ;  how  close  to  the  world 
unseen!  And  Dorothy  Wakefield?  Ambrose  felt 
his  troubles  falling  from  his  heart  at  the  thought 
of  her.  Her  face  rose  up  before  him  and  com 
forted  him.  He  recollected  all  his  meetings  with 
her  and  reflected  longingly  on  the  womanly  ten 
derness  of  her  sympathy,  the  virile  power  of  her 
intelligence,  the  depth  and  purity  of  her  character, 
the  simplicity  and  fervor  of  her  religion.  She, 
too,  had  become  a  friend,  and  how  beautiful,  how 
precious  was  that  friendship !  But  —  but,  what 
was  this  disturbing  scruple  that  entered  the 
priest's  mind  now  for  the  first  time?  Was  this 
friendship  with  Dorothy  too  intimate?  Was  it 
dangerous?  He  had  kissed  her  hand  that  morn 
ing.  The  remembrance  of  that  action  startled 
him,  and  the  blood  flew  to  his  face.  Yes,  the  strict 
standards  of  priestly  austerity  condemned  him 
there.  He  had  chosen  loneliness,  yea,  even  loneli 
ness  of  the  heart;  he  had  vowed  himself  to  an  un 
compromising  asceticism;  he  had  bidden  eternal 
farewell  to  human  love.  Let  him  beware  of  this 
woman!  No  man  was  ever  more  thoroughly  a 
priest  than  Ambrose  Hanlon.  Never  in  his  life 
had  he  felt  even  a  temptation  to  complain  of  his 
priestly  vow.  But  as  he  sat  there  in  that  speeding 
train  his  soul  awoke  as  it  were,  and  found  itself 
in  pain.  Not  that  he  was  in  love.  The  idea  was 
ridiculous.  But  the  mere  thought  that  a  new  self- 


160  THE  PRIEST 

consciousness,  a  subtle  and  suggestive  reserve 
should  henceforth  underlie  his  relations  with 
Dorothy;  that  he  must  place  bounds  and  barriers 
to  a  friendship  that  had  begun  to  touch  his  life 
with  tenderness ;  that  he  must  forbid  her  too  close 
an  acquaintance  with  his  thoughts  and  troubles  — 
this  pained  him,  and  the  pain  struck  deep.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  recognized  that  his 
youthful  vow  was  severe  and  savage,  and  that  the 
solitude  which  it  made  around  him  was  as  nothing 
compared  to  the  loneliness  which  it  created  within. 
If  only  his  faith  were  as  once  it  was!  But  this 
ultimate  support  now  when  he  most  needed  it  to 
be  strong,  was  uncertain  and  weak.  His  sturdy 
and  uncompromising  belief  of  other  days  had  been 
shaken  seriously, —  he  could  no  longer  doubt  it. 
Yet  he  had  committed  no  fault.  He  had  only 
studied,  thought  and  prayed.  His  desolate  heart 
had  almost  refused  to  go  whither  the  imperious 
intellect  pointed  the  way;  and  not  till  Conscience 
took  the  whip  in  its  hand,  had  he  set  forth  upon 
the  sorrowful  journey.  What  would  be  the  out 
come?  The  answer  to  that  question  was  in  dark 
ness  indeed.  The  young  priest  closed  his  eyes. 
His  tired  soul  turned  to  his  Master.  "  Jesus," 
he  prayed,  "  across  the  ages  I  send  my  cry  to  thee. 
O  Sovereign  of  human  hearts !  From  thy  throne 
of  kingship  in  the  world  of  spirits,  look  on  me 
thy  consecrated,  who  desire  to  love  thee  and  to 
live  for  thee."  The  aspiration  uttered,  his  sor 
row  took  an  upward  look,  and  within  his  soul  he 
felt  some  faint  flutterings  of  peace. 


THE  PRIEST  161 

Father  Hanlon's  setting  out  for  the  city  had 
been  quite  aimless,  but  having  arrived  there,  he 
determined  to  attend  evening  service  in  a  Uni 
tarian  church.  So  it  happened  that  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  sat  in  the  pew  of  a  Protestant 
conventicle.  Two  motives  had  led  him  there.  In 
the  first  place  he  was  seeking  a  spiritual  message 
that  might  bring  strength  and  consolation  to  his 
troubled  heart.  He  was  in  no  mood  for  symbolism 
and  ceremonial;  nor  cared  he  aught  just  then  for 
venerable  signs  and  ancient  usages.  With  still 
greater  reluctance  did  he  shrink  from  controversy 
and  the  spirit  of  sect.  His  desire  was  for  an  hour 
of  simple  worship  such  as  the  twelve  must  have 
enjoyed  who  walked  with  Jesus  and  gathered  about 
him  in  the  fields  by  day  or  beneath  the  stars  at 
night  to  speak  their  lowly  prayer  and  lift  their 
humble  hymn  to  the  Father  of  all.  This  simplicity 
of  form  and  this  immediateness  of  access  to  God 
Ambrose  felt  he  could  best  find  among  the  Uni 
tarians.  He  had  no  scruples  now  in  taking  part 
in  heretical  worship.  "  Nulla  communicatio  cum 
hereticis  in  divinis,"  was  a  thundering  axiom  that 
had  lost  its  terrors.  Whoever  bowed  before  the 
Most  High,  whoever  strove  to  learn  the  spirit  of 
Christ,  was  his  brother  in  the  spiritual  universe; 
and  brotherhood,  he  believed,  was  higher  and 
holier  than  the  antipathies  of  sects  and  the  arro 
gance  of  theologies. 

In  the  second  place,  he  had  come  to  regard  the 
Unitarian  fellowship  with  admiration,  even  with 


162  THE  PRIEST 

longing.  Its  principles  of  ministering  to  the  soul 
while  permitting  perfect  freedom  to  the  mind,  was 
naturally  attractive  to  a  man  who  had  grown 
restive  beneath  an  iron  orthodoxy  which  made 
itself  the  despot  of  intellect  and  the  foe  of  scholar 
ship.  He  could  not  fail,  indeed,  to  recognize  the 
limitations  of  Unitarianism.  It  was  a  church  of 
the  few;  and  he  feared  that  one  of  the  reasons  of 
its  remaining  so  was  that  it  lacked  the  apostolic 
spirit,  and  that  its  devotional  life  was  thin  and 
poor.  Still,  there  was  Josiah  Danforth!  There 
was  Dorothy  Wakefield!  More  earnest,  more 
prayerful  souls,  than  these  two  friends  of  his  did 
not  exist.  And  if  they  found  this  form  of  faith 
sufficient  it  could  not  be  destitute  of  grace  and 
power  to  sanctify  and  inspire.  Summing  the  mat 
ter  up  Hanlon  found  that  Unitarianism  fell  in 
congenially  with  the  state  of  mind  that  was  grow 
ing  upon  him,  and  was  inclined  to  think  that  some 
such  form  of  religion  was  destined  to  be  the  final 
step  in  the  evolution  of  Christianity. 

He  joined  in  the  beautiful  and  simple  hymn  with 
which  the  service  began.  A  prayer  followed, 
spoken  by  the  venerable  pastor  emeritus  of  the 
church,  a  man  who  must  have  been  nearly  ninety, 
but  of  whose  countenance  not  all  the  ravages  of 
age  impaired  the  kindness,  tranquillity  and  purity. 
His  prayer  moved  Ambrose  to  the  heart.  It  led 
him  straight  into  the  presence  of  the  Father  of 
Spirits.  It  sounded  like  an  echo  of  the  prayer  of 
Christ.  It  lifted  him  into  the  abode  of  the  Eterni- 


THE  PRIEST  163 

ties,  and  left  him  at  the  feet  of  the  world's  Con 
soler.  A  quartet  next  sang  the  Lord's  Prayer. 
As  the  voices  rolled  out  in  full  volume  at  the  end, 
"  For  thine  is  the  kingdom  and  the  power  and  the 
glory,"  Ambrose  confessed  that  this  doxology, 
textually  inauthentic  as  he  knew  it  to  be,  was 
worthy  to  be  joined  to  the  immortal  words  of  wor 
ship  that  precede  it.  After  another  hymn  came 
the  sermon,  delivered  by  the  young  assistant  pastor 
of  the  church.  Such  a  sermon  as  it  was !  The 
young  man  began  with  announcing  as  his  text  a 
paragraph  from  Herbert  Spencer's  Principles  of 
Biology,  adding  as  a  companion  text  a  page  of 
Firdousi.  Then  thrusting  his  right  hand  into  his 
trousers'  pocket,  off  he  went  into  a  deplorable  dec 
lamation.  The  idea  of  God  was  his  subject,  and 
his  purpose  seemed  to  be  to  destroy  every  idea  of 
God  that  was  worth  anything  for  religion.  God 
is  the  formless,  vital  principle  of  the  universe,  he 
said.  God  is  the  name  we  give  to  that  unknowable 
hidden  life  that  throbs  in  sea  and  sky  and  star. 
Creation  is  an  absurdity;  the  universe  is  eternal. 
This  the  great  evolutionary  philosophers,  and  espe 
cially  Herbert  Spencer,  have  irrefutably  proved. 
Thus  this  strange  caricature  of  a  sermon  ran  on. 
Whatever  other  ideas  it  may  have  left  in  the 
minds  of  those  who  heard  it,  the  very  last  idea 
it  could  be  accused  of  depositing  there  was  any 
worshipful  or  devout  idea  of  God.  The  tone  in 
which  it  was  delivered  was  even  more  exasperating 
than  its  contents.  Herbert  Spencer  was  spoken 


164  THE  PRIEST 

of  as  the  lord  of  earthly  wisdom,  whose  philosophy 
it  would  be  primitive  barbarism  to  gainsay.  The 
"  old  "  idea  of  God  was  flung  out  of  court  with  an 
infallibility  of  assurance  that  no  pope  could  pre 
tend  to  equal.  Belligerence,  scorn,  intolerant  final 
ity  —  of  all  this  there  was  abundance ;  but  for  the 
soul,  for  piety,  not  a  word.  Add  to  this  the  young 
man's  flagrant  offences  against  logic,  as  when  he 
argued  that  because  the  universe  was  big,  there 
fore,  it  was  infinite ;  and  because  it  was  old,  there 
fore,  eternal  —  and  we  may  be  able  to  understand 
Ambrose's  disappointment  and  distress. 

Deeper  in  depression  than  ever,  lonelier  than 
ever,  Father  Hanlon  entered  his  room  at  midnight, 
where  he  knew  that  not  sleep,  but  continued  con 
flict  awaited  him. 


xvin 

On  the  very  Sunday  of  Ambrose  Hanlon's  unto 
ward  experience  of  advanced  liberalism,  Josiah 
Danforth's  pulpit  was  occupied  by  a  Reverend 
Mr.  Snodgrass.  Danforth  was  detained  by  a  lec 
ture  in  a  town  fifty  miles  distant  and  he  asked  this 
young  minister,  of  whom  he  knew  little  or  nothing, 
to  supply  his  place  in  Axton.  Mr.  Snodgrass' 
sermon  threw  the  congregation  into  a  violent  con 
troversy.  It  declared  in  substance  that  the  gods 
of  nations  and  religions  were  little  more  than  an 
idealization  of  what  the  subjects  of  these  deities 
conceived  to  be  good  and  great.  One  after  another 
of  the  divinities  thus  made  to  man's  image  and 
likeness  passed  away  before  the  rising  sun  of 
science;  one  after  another,  however  fervently  wor 
shipped  and  magnanimously  trusted,  descended 
into  the  grave  along  with  the  civilizations  which 
had  produced  them.  The  lesson  of  this  sorrowful 
religious  history  of  the  race  is  that  we  must  cease 
to  scan  the  distant  sky,  must  forego  our  vain 
building  of  Jacob's  ladders,  and  confess  that 
the  ultimate,  the  world-ground,  is  totally  beyond 
the  reach  of  mind  or  heart.  True,  we  shall 
always  have  ideals,  shall  never  be  without  hopes, 
affections  and  aspirations  that  go  beyond  our 
selves  ;  but  for  these  outgoing  impulses  of  the  soul 
we  must  build  a  home  on  earth,  nor  trust  too  much 
that  they  shall  find  mansions  in  heaven.  Do  the 
daily  task,  strive  to  be  unselfish ;  and  for  the  rest 
165 


166  THE  PRIEST 

try  to  be  reconciled  to  darkness  and  unsolved  mys 
tery  forever. 

When  Dan  forth  reached  home  next  day,  Doro 
thy  gave  him  an  account  of  this  sermon  with  in 
dignation  and  outraged  feeling  in  every  word. 
"  Must  we  admit,"  she  asked  him,  "  that  the  church 
we  have  so  loved  has  no  message  for  human  souls, 
except  that  we  must  be  polite  and  kind  and  keep 
out  of  jail?  Has  it  no  living  conviction  that  the 
soul's  desires  are  destined  for  immortal  fruition? 
If  so,  let  us  become  Catholics  at  once ;  for  whatever 
else  the  Roman  church  may  be,  she  at  least  is  a 
teacher  of  God  and  of  a  soul  that  was  made  for 
God." 

Sighing  sadly  Danforth  answered :  "  There  is 
much  to  discourage  us  in  the  drift  of  things.  Not 
that  I  have  the  smallest  doubt  of  the  survival  of 
true  religion.  That  will  not  die  till  the  heart  of 
the  last  noble  man  and  pure  woman  ceases  to  beat. 
But  we  seem  to  be  entering  a  tunnel  in  the  life- 
journey  of  the  race.  We  are  in  all  probability 
facing  an  era  of  desolation,  wherein  many  will  be 
born,  will  live  and  die,  blind,  deaf  and  dumb  for 
want  of  a  prophet,  a  Messiah,  to  unstop  the  av 
enues  of  their  souls."  He  paused,  and  when  he 
resumed  he  seemed  to  be  communing  with  his  own 
soul.  "  The  people  are  not  at  fault ;  human  nature 
has  not  lost  its  Godward  impulse.  But  the  school 
of  prophets  is  vacant.  Men  are  setting  themselves 
up  as  spiritual  leaders,  to  whom  the  spirit's  in 
terior  struggles,  agonies  and  triumphs  are  un 
known." 


THE  PRIEST  167 

Danforth  was  still  pondering  the  problem  sug 
gested  by  Dorothy  when  Hanlon  visited  him  that 
evening.  The  priest  at  once  proceeded  to  tell  his 
friend  about  the  sermon  whereof  Herbert  Spencer 
furnished  the  text.  "  I  was  bitterly  disappointed, 
Jo,"  he  concluded ;  "  because  I  have  grown  to  re 
gard  the  Unitarian  brotherhood  of  Christ's  dis 
ciples  as  a  sort  of  home  for  my  soul.  Your  spirit 
ual  literature  is  so  beautiful ;  your  traditional  rev 
erence  for  the  heart's  free  converse  with  its  Maker 
so  appealing,  that  I  was  fain  to  think  that  your 
form  of  Christianity  would  become  the  last  and 
highest  home  of  faith.  But  if  your  leaders  fight 
against  the  soul  of  man,  they  and  their  cause  are 
lost." 

"  Ambrose,"  said  the  minister ;  "  any  religion  is 
lost  that  does  not  produce  saints.  The  main 
trouble  is  that  our  spiritual  life  is  low.  We  are 
losing  the  mystical  sense.  We  have  preachers 
many,  but  apostles  few.  Our  Unitarian  principles 
are  eternally  true.  I  am  convinced  of  that,  and  I 
think  you  are,  to  a  greater  degree  than  you 
imagine.  But  of  what  good  is  a  mere  foundation, 
if  the  structure  of  vitality  is  not  there  ?  Given  our 
principles  and  traditions;  add  to  them  spiritual  / 
insight,  exalted  heroism  and  invincible  persever-  V 
ance,  and  our  faith  will  win  the  world.  Strike  ' 
from  our  souls  the  bondage  of  conventionality ;  put 
into  our  blood  a  passion  for  humanity,  and  a  thirst 
for  the  living  God  —  and  who  can  withstand  us  ? 
My  brother,  I  feel  the  sense  of  a  divine  vocation 


168  THE  PRIEST 

approaching  upon  my  inmost  soul.  Vague  and 
formless  yet,  it  will  become  clear;  and  I  am  eager 
to  see  it  and  to  live  for  it.  In  a  general  way  it 
is  to  make  the  Christ-appeal  to  modern  men.  It 
is  turning  the  light  of  Christ's  divine  spirit  upon 
the  sufferings,  the  shams  and  the  brutalities  of 
modern  society.  It  will  begin  with  the  soul  within. 
Unless  that  is  right,  vain  are  our  dreams  of  re 
form,  our  efforts  of  philanthropy.  But  it  will  go 
out  from  the  soul  into  the  social  and  political  life 
of  our  time;  it  will  attempt  a  transformation  of 
society  based  on  individual  righteousness."  With 
the  faintest  trace  of  a  smile,  he  added :  "  If  you 
think  me  dreaming,  acknowledge  at  all  events  that 
the  dream  is  holy."  His  features  setting  into  an 
almost  sombre  gravity  again,  he  concluded: 
"  Would  that  you  and  I  might  work  hand  in  hand 
to  make  the  dream  come  true ! " 

"  Jo,"  said  the  priest  with  bowed  head,  "  I  fear 
I  must  confess  that  I  am  afraid  of  Calvary." 

"  Our  brother  of  Galilee,"  answered  Danforth, 
"  shrank  from  it,  too.  Yes,  even  He.  But  in  the 
supreme  hour  He  conquered  the  mob,  the  priest 
hood  and  their  tortures,  and  now  He  rules  us  from 
the  cross." 

After  a  moment's  silence  Danforth  said  with  a 
smile :  "  By  the  way,  Ambrose,  this  information 
that  you  have  given  me,  and  similar  information 
that  I  have  received  about  a  brother-minister  of 
mine  named  Snodgrass,  are  in  the  highest  degree 
opportune.  I  am  to  address  the  students  for  the 


THE  PRIEST  169 

Unitarian  ministry  at  H University  next 

week,  and  I  fancy  my  few  remarks  will  be  seasoned 
with  less  honey  than  hot  peppers.  One  of  the  pro 
fessors  there,  a  leader,  by  the  way,  in  this  apos 
tasy  from  our  traditions  and  from  the  spirit  of 
worship,  thinks  harshly  of  me  already.  I'm  vul 
gar,  he  says;  a  camp-meeting  revivalist,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  But  just  wait  until  he  hears 
me  scream  next  week,  and  I'll  bet  he'll  ring  in  a 
police  alarm.  Ambrose,  my  boy,  don't  you  enjoy 
a  fight?" 

Danforth  was  a  boy  again,  and  his  face  glowed 
at  the  thought  of  conflict.  Hanlon  smiled  at  this 
sudden  but  characteristic  turn  of  his  friend's 
thought,  and  said: 

"  Well,  Jo,  I  am  full  of  Celtic  blood  and  I  am 
the  son  of  a  soldier;  but  I  have  been  *  sickled  o'er 
with  the  pale  cast  of  thought '  lately.  It  does  me 
good  to  see  you  with  a  chip  on  your  shoulder." 

"  The  pale  cast  of  thought,  if  flushed  now  and 
then  with  the  red  glow  of  righteous  combativeness, 
will  win  this  world  for  God  and  God-like  human 
ity,"  cried  Danforth ;  "  but  one  without  the  other 
makes  a  man  a  weakling  or  a  fanatic.  Ambrose, 
let's  take  for  our  colors  pale  flesh-color  and  blood- 
red!" 

*'  I'm  off  to  buy  my  war-paint,"  laughed  Han 
lon,  picking  up  his  hat.  "  Good  luck  to  your 
speech,  Jo ! " 

Josiah  Danforth's  speech  to  the  young  candi 
dates  for  the  ministry  quite  fulfilled  his  prediction. 
It  was  highly  seasoned  with  hot  peppers.  The 


170  THE  PRIEST 

gist  of  it  was,  they  were  not  sufficiently  praying 
and  wrestling  with  the  problems  of  the  spirit. 
Experience  was  the  world's  greatest  teacher,  he 
told  them.  And  shall  experience  in  the  highest 
possible  category  of  phenomena  —  the  phenomena 
of  soul-growth  —  be  disregarded  by  men  who  are 
to  give  utterance  to  Christ's  thought,  Christ's  love, 
Christ's  heart  ?  "  How  can  you  dare,"  he  de 
manded,  "  speak  for  Him  who  consumed  His  mid 
night  hours  in  solemn  meditation,  who  wore  Him 
self  pale  and  thin  in  constant  pondering  of  eternal 
verities,  if  you  starve  yourself  upon  life's  shallow 
respectabilities,  if  you  imagine  that  a  merely  de 
corous  behaviour  and  an  ability  to  turn  a  graceful 
sentence  constitute  a  prophet  and  an  apostle?  Of 
old  God's  messengers  had  to  possess  hearts  of  fire 
and  souls  of  mystics;  now  it  appears  that  a  few 
solemn  pedantries  —  philosophy,  philology  and 
exegesis  —  are  enough."  He  told  them  of  the 
glorious  possibilities  open  to  their  pure  and  simple 
interpretation  of  Christ's  religion,  and  in  words 
that  throbbed  with  indignation  he  laid  before  them 
the  increasing  signs  that  these  possibilities  were 
not  to  be  realized.  His  last  words  were :  "  Back 
to  Jesus  and  Forward  with  Jesus!  Look  to 
the  divine  Hero,  who,  through  His  discipline  of 
pain  and  darkness  spoke  words  that  still  echo  in 
the  heart  of  humanity.  Pray  with  Him  beneath 
the  stars,  meditate  with  Him  by  the  lonely  lake,  lie 
prostrate  with  Him  in  Gethsemane ;  yes,  and  if  the 
hour  comes,  die  with  him  at  the  hands  of  a  brutal 


THE  PRIEST  171 

mob.  And  if  you  are  not  prepared  to  do  this, 
leave  this  place  of  preparation,  and  defile  not  the 
office  of  the  Lord's  apostle  with  infidelity,  time 
serving  and  sloth." 

When  he  finished,  the  students  thronged  about 
him.  "  This  is  the  birthday  of  my  soul,"  said  one. 
"  Mr.  Danforth,  in  humiliating  me,  you  have  made 
a  man  of  me,"  said  another.  "  You  delivered  a 
message  that  is  sadly  needed  in  this  house,"  put 
in  a  third.  The  professors  congratulated  him, 
too,  but  less  heartily,  with  the  exception  of  the 
gentleman  of  whom  Danforth  spoke  to  Hanlon. 
This  man  left  the  room  without  a  word  to  Dan 
forth,  and  went  straightway  to  his  rooms,  not  to 
ring  in  a  police  alarm,  but  to  write  a  letter  to 
Squire  Wakefield,  bitterly  censuring  the  fanatical 
pastor  of  Axton.  The  Squire  was  one  of  the  most 
generous  friends  of  the  theological  school,  and  the 
hostile  professor  thought  he  ought  to  be  informed 
as  to  the  sort  of  man  the  Axton  congregation  was 
supporting.  We  need  not  describe  the  joy  with 
which  the  Squire  received  this  communication. 
He  took  from  his  pocket  a  note-book  which  bore 
the  heading:  "  Complaints  against  the  Reverend 
Josiah  Danforth,"  and  carefully  wrote  therein  the 
professor's  gravamina.  Squire  Wakefield  was 
going  about  his  campaign  systematically. 


XIX 

About  the  middle  of  January  Father  Hanlon 
received  from  the  bishop's  office  two  letters  that 
we  must  mention  in  this  history  of  his  life  and 
growth.  The  first  was  a  printed  card  with  the  in 
formation  that  Father  Joseph  Dooran  had  received 
the  Holy  See's  appointment  as  coadjutor  bishop 
of  the  diocese  with  the  right  of  succession.  The 
second  contained  a  small  printed  pamphlet  and  a 
page  of  type-written  matter.  This  latter  docu 
ment,  signed  by  the  bishop's  secretary,  reminded 
Hanlon  that  the  semi-annual  conference  of  the  dio 
cesan  clergy  for  the  discussion  of  theological 
problems  would  be  held  on  the  following  Wednes 
day,  and  conveyed  to  him  Bishop  Shyrne's  es 
pecial  command  to  be  present.  The  accompany 
ing  pamphlet  contained  an  outline  of  the  subject 
to  be  debated  at  the  conference.  That  a  bishop 
should  send  a  personal  order  to  a  priest  to  attend 
a  conference  of  this  kind,  is  an  unusual  proceed 
ing;  but  when  Hanlon  glanced  at  the  question  to 
be  treated  he  quite  understood  the  action  of  the 
Right  Reverend  Shyrne.  This  question  was: 
"The  Reading  of  Prohibited  Books."  "The 
priests  will  be  expected,"  so  read  the  circular,  "  to 
explain  and  defend  the  decrees  and  condemnations 
of  the  Roman  Index  from  the  standpoint  both  of 
dogmatic  theology  and  of  the  practical  usage  of 
the  confessor."  Hanlon  smiled  as  he  first  read 
these  announcements;  but  as  he  reflected  further, 
172 


THE  PRIEST  173 

his  face  became  troubled.  Could  he  attend  the 
conference  merely  as  an  auditor,  it  would  be  sim 
ple  enough.  He  could  endure  the  solemn  discus 
sions  of  his  conservative  confreres  with  more  or 
less  equanimity.  But  he  was  practically  certain 
that  the  bishop  would  call  upon  him  to  give  his 
opinion  on  some  aspect  of  the  case  so  cleverly  put 
that  he  must  either  dissemble  or  speak  out  his  mind 
and  possibly  bring  on  the  crisis  that  he  had  long 
been  fearing.  Closing  his  eyes,  the  priest,  with  a 
strange  sense  of  being  both  victim  and  victor, 
began  picturing  to  himself  the  possible  events  of 
the  conference.  In  the  presence  of  two  hundred 
priests  the  bishop  would  call  upon  him  to  declare 
his  interpretation  of  the  binding  force  of  the 
Roman  Index.  He  saw  himself  rising  to  respond. 
His  imagination  brought  before  him  with  startling 
vividness  his  own  white,  stern  face,  the  living 
words  that  would  leap  from  his  lips  in  defence  of 
that  which  it  is  a  crime  to  coerce  —  Truth  and  the 
Truth-seeking  mind  of  man.  Emancipation  for 
the  human  spirit;  the  impossibility  of  maintaining 
intellectual  despotism  at  an  age  when  every  other 
despotism  is  dead;  the  self-vindicating  power  of 
science  over  every  vagary  and  all  inevitable  but 
transient  errors;  an  appeal  to  Roman  churchmen 
to  cease  their  insane  hostility  to  modern  civiliza 
tion  !  —  this  would  be  his  answer  to  the  frowning 
bishop  in  the  chair  before  him  and  to  those  greater 
bishops  in  the  Vatican  who  would  fain  make  it  a 
matter  of  their  good  pleasure  whether  intellect 


174  THE  PRIEST 

shall  live  or  die.  In  the  ardor  of  his  fancy  Han- 
Ion  bounded  from  his  chair  and  walked  the  room 
with  the  words  of  his  great  defiance  pouring  from 
his  lips.  In  another  minute  he  was  soberly  smil 
ing  at  his  impetuosity,  and  he  resumed  his  medita 
tions  in  a  more  practical  frame  of  mind. 

No  matter  what  the  snare  the  bishop  laid  for 
him  he  would  not  lie.  During  these  past  few 
months  of  incessant  study  the  scientific  conscience 
had  been  growing  within  him  steadily,  and  had 
given  him  a  conception  of  Truth's  unspeakable 
holiness  and  supreme  authority  such  as  he  had 
never  derived  from  either  his  course  in  theology  or 
the  fervors  of  his  early  piety.  It  was  hardly  a 
question  of  volition  any  longer.  He  could  as  soon 
jump  to  the  moon  as  deliberately  lie.  There  was 
almost  a  physical  impossibility  in  the  way.  Truth 
was  Deity  in  the  category  of  intellect ;  and  to  pre 
fer  before  that  Deity  the  good  will  of  Sebastian 
Shyrne  or  the  comfort  of  Ambrose  Hanlon,  was 
a  thing  that  could  find  no  lodging  in  his  mind  or 
will.  The  very  power  of  temptation  had  gone 
from  falsehood.  What  a  gain  that  was ! 
"  Thanks  to  Thee  for  that,  O  God,"  he  murmured. 
The  sentiment  and  the  prayer  were  sincere.  But 
he  had  still  to  learn,  poor  youth,  the  full  power 
of  the  temptation  to  be  untrue. 

Well,  then,  he  would  speak  frankly  on  this  busi 
ness  of  the  Index.  If  so  there  was  some  likelihood 
that  the  following  Wednesday  night  would  find  him 
a  dishonored,  disgraced  and  suspended  priest.  He 


THE  PRIEST  175 

had  been  suspended  already,  and  he  still  bore  that 
pain  in  his  heart.  But  that  was  a  private  matter. 
No  one  knew  of  it,  so  far  as  he  could  tell,  except 
the  bishop,  Danforth,  and  himself.  He  had  not 
told  even  brave  little  Margaret,  his  sister,  to  whom 
he  often  confided  secrets  which  he  withheld  from 
his  mother.  And  besides,  the  suspension  had  been 
for  only  a  few  days.  But  now  staring  him  in  the 
face  was  public  and  notorious  degradation.  Would 
not  his  mother  die  when  she  heard  of  it.  Mother ! 
Ah,  how  much  more  strongly  was  he  bound  to  his 
present  life  by  her  and  Margaret,  by  his  love  for 
them,  by  his  uttermost  care  not  to  hurt  them,  than 
he  was  by  the  sadly  ravelled  strands  of  theological 
orthodoxy!  What  if  he,  son  and  brother,  were 
about  to  break  their  hearts!  beyond  all  healing? 
Margaret's  heart,  he  reflected,  would  not  break. 
She  would  fling  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  Am 
brose  she  worshipped  and  would  follow  him,  if  so 
it  must  be,  even  into  that  outer  darkness  —  that 
outer  darkness  into  which  of  late  he  often  found 
himself  peering  with  strained  and  frightened  eyes. 
Perhaps  the  bishop  would  send  him  to  a  mon 
astery  to  do  penance  for  the  rest  of  his  life !  Hor 
rible  fate !  Again,  Ambrose's  imagination  set  to 
work  drawing  pictures.  Here  he  is  in  this  Trap- 
pist  death-hole,  a  prisoner  for  life.  He  ap 
proaches  the  harsh  Abbot  for  permission  to  read 
a  book  or  two.  "  Begone,  apostate !  No  more 
books  for  you  but  the  breviary,  until  by  penance 
you  regain  the  faith  which  pride  of  intellect  has 


176  THE  PRIEST 

taken  from  you."  His  career  is  at  an  end.  His 
mind  is  doomed  to  death.  And  at  last  Ambrose 
Hanlon  in  the  body,  renegade  and  heretic,  is  dead. 
There  he  lies  in  that  unkempt  corner  of  the  Trap- 
pist  cemetery.  Shudder,  you  who  have  heard  of 
him,  and  pass  on ! 

"  Heavens,  this  is  unhealthy !  "  he  cried  leaping 
to  his  feet  again,  a  look  of  terror  on  his  face  which 
did  not  wholly  disappear  until  he  had  been  plunged 
for  some  minutes  into  a  dust-covered  volume  of 
Moral  Theology  —  the  volume  that  treats  of  cen 
sures  and  condemnations.  "  I'm  forgetting  this 
department  of  science,"  he  remarked  with  a  grim 
smile  as  he  turned  a  page.  Reading  on,  he  came 
upon  the  grave  discussion  of  the  doctors  of  the  law 
as  to  how  much  of  a  prohibited  book  has  to  be  read 
before  one  should  commit  a  mortal  sin  —  some 
holding  that  nothing  less  than  reading  a  full  chap 
ter  would  involve  the  loss  of  one's  soul;  others, 
Liguori  among  them,  maintaining  that  to  peruse 
even  a  page  would  deserve  eternal  hell.  At  this 
Ambrose  flung  the  book  away  from  him  as  though 
a  snake  had  lifted  its  head  from  the  leaves,  and 
whipping  out  in  a  bitter  tone :  "  What  putrid 
stuff !  "  he  fell  to  thinking  again. 

After  all,  suppose  the  bishop  would  order  him 
to  a  monastery,  would  he  go?  The  alternative 
was  —  that  outer  darkness !  Of  a  sudden  the 
priest  felt  defiance  and  bitterness  receding  from 
him,  and  into  his  whole  being  surged  the  idea,  hal 
lowed  by  centuries  of  piety,  masterful  with  the 


THE  PRIEST  177 

traditions  of  ages  of  authority,  the  idea  of  Priest 
hood,  of  Consecration.  In  majesty  it  demanded 
his  submission.  He  was  a  priest;  he  had  sworn 
his  vow ;  he  was  consecrated  according  to  the  order 
of  Melchisedech  forever  —  in  aeternum,  in  aeter- 
num,  forever,  forever.  It  seemed  as  though  the 
unnumbered  host  of  priests  from  the  beginning, 
as  though  nearly  twenty  centuries  of  sacrifice,  as 
though  the  imperial  Church,  world-wide  and  in 
wisdom  world-old,  had  found  a  voice  —  a  voice  of 
what  august,  what  overwhelming  potency  —  and 
that  voice  spoke  within  his  heart  and  said :  "  In 
the  name  of  ages;  in  the  name  of  Jesus;  in  the 
name  of  Almighty  God,  Submit!  Submit!  Suffer  J 
if  need  be!  Die!  Be  dishonored!  But  sur-V 
render  your  priesthood  never ! "  Overcome  by  A 
the  sublimity,  the  intimateness,  of  this  tragic  and 
tremendous  interior  experience,  Father  Hanlon 
fell  upon  his  knees  and  in  a  storm  of  emotion  which 
left  no  one  can  say  how  much  free  exercise  of  will, 
he  cried :  "  I  will  submit.  I  am  a  priest  forever ; 
O,  Christ,  forever." 


XX 

It  was  within  five  minutes  of  the  time  the  exer 
cises  were  to  begin  that  Father  Hanlon  entered  the 
conference-hall.  His  coming  was  not  noticed,  and 
quite  unobserved  he  dropped  into  a  seat  near 
the  door.  The  two  hundred  priests  present  were 
too  much  occupied  just  then  to  advert  to  him, 
being  gathered  in  a  dense  group  about  the  future 
bishop  of  the  diocese,  the  Reverend  Joseph  Dooran, 
upon  whose  predestined  head  congratulations  were 
pouring  by  the  score.  "  The  best  possible  choice 
the  diocese  could  have  made ; "  "I  foresaw  this 
from  your  seminary  days ;  "  "  the  Holy  Ghost  has 
made  no  mistake  this  time,"  were  some  of  the  ex 
pressions  of  felicitation  that  Father  Hanlon  could 
distinguish  as  he  sat  silent  and  aloof.  If  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  a  cynical  smile  came  upon  his 
face  it  was  gone  in  a  moment,  and  his  eyes  closed 
as  if  in  profound  thought  or  prayer. 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  noisy  group  as  Bishop 
Shyrne,  looking  in  the  best  possible  humor,  stepped 
on  the  platform.  His  lordship  surveyed  his 
priests  with  beaming  face  and  said :  "  Father 
Dooran,  I  think  it  is  time  for  you  to  begin  to  take 
that  place  of  precedence  which  will  soon  be  canon- 
ically  conferred  on  you.  Please  sit  beside  me  on 
the  platform."  The  hand-clapping  was  tremen 
dous  as  the  coadjutor-designate  rose  to  comply 
with  this  invitation,  and  it  was  not  until  three  ro 
bust  cheers  had  been  given  that  the  applause  sub- 
178 


THE  PRIEST  179 

sided.  "  It  seems  to  me,"  remarked  the  bishop, 
"  that  so  striking  an  expression  of  good  will  calls 
for  some  acknowledgment.  Father  Dooran,  before 
we  proceed  to  our  discussion  of  theology,  will  you 
favor  us  with  a  few  words  ?  "  Dooran  stepped  for 
ward,  greatly  agitated,  and  said  in  a  very  unim 
pressive  manner :  "  Gentlemen,  fellow-priests,  I 
am  very  grateful.  Bishop  Shyrne,  to  you  above  all 
I  am  grateful.  I  will  make  it  my  life's  greatest  en 
deavor,  if  it  be  the  will  of  Providence  that  I  sur 
vive  you,  to  conduct  the  diocese  in  the  way  that 
you  have  shown  us.  Above  all,  I  will  try  to  imi 
tate  you  in  your  zeal  for  the  purity  of  the  faith, 
and  in  your  hatred  for  heresy ;  especially  that  sub 
tle  heresy  which  sometimes  lurks  within  the  sanc 
tuary  itself.  If  in  the  exercise  of  this  duty  sever 
ity  be  called  for,  I  promise  you  I  shall  be  severe. 
I  heartily  agree  with  you,  Right  Reverend  Bishop, 
that  among  our  priests  we  want  no  higher  critics, 
no  readers  or  purveyors  of  so-called  scientific 
books,  which  — "  here  a  sudden  pallor  swept  across 
the  speaker's  face,  and  his  voice  fell  so  low  that 
the  conclusion  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  a  thick, 
hardly  articulate  utterance.  "  Gentlemen,  again 
I  thank  you.  This  is  the  proudest  moment  of  my 
life.  God  bless  you." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  break  of  his  ?  " 
whispered  a  priest  to  his  neighbor. 

"  Oh !  he's  excited,  I  suppose,"  was  the  answer. 
"  Dooran  is  a  dumb  ox  anyhow.  Fifty  men  in  the 
diocese  have  more  brains  than  he  will  ever  have." 


180  THE  PRIEST 

Whatever  the  truth  in  this  latter  compliment, 
it  was  not  lack  of  brains  that  brought  Joseph  Doo- 
ran's  little  speech  to  an  inglorious  conclusion. 
He  had  caught  sight  of  a  priest  sitting  in  the  rear 
of  the  hall  apart  from  the  others  —  a  priest  whose 
face  was  pale  and  thoughtful;  whose  eyes  gazed 
steadily  at  the  floor.  Not  for  an  instant  were 
those  eyes  lifted ;  not  for  one  second  did  that  pale 
face  express  hatred,  contempt  or  pity.  Yet  it 
was  the  sight  of  this  man,  motionless,  impassive, 
that  had  brought  confusion  to  Joseph  Dooran. 

Bishop  Shyrne  then  opened  the  conference 
proper  with  a  short  address  on  the  importance  of 
the  matter  about  to  be  discussed,  the  reading  of 
prohibited  books.  He  reminded  the  priests  that 
this  was  no  merely  academic  question,  but  an  in 
tensely  practical  one.  Every  confessor  had  many 
occasions  of  dealing  with  it;  for  the  reading  of 
books  that  had  been  placed  on  the  Index  was  grow 
ing  alarmingly  in  this  liberal  age.  Upon  bishops 
and  priests  devolved  the  duty  of  checking  this 
great  evil.  Upon  their  conscience  it  rested  to  en 
force  the  laws  of  the  Index  rigidly.  Especially 
books  written  by  the  higher  critics  must  be 
snatched  from  the  hands  of  the  faithful,  must  be 
rigorously  kept  from  seminaries,  and  must  be 
excluded  from  the  libraries  of  priests  themselves. 
"  Woe  to  us,"  he  concluded,  "  if  we  desert  the 
ancient  master,  Thomas  Aquinas,  to  follow  after 
Hermann-A- A- Albert  Harnack."  Great  applause 
from  his  loyal  priests ! 


THE  PRIEST  181 

.  His  speech  at  an  end,  the  bishop  began  asking 
questions  of  the  priests  quite  in  the  manner  of  a 
classroom.  First  he  requested  one  of  them  to  give 
him  an  historical  sketch  of  the  Roman  Congrega 
tion  of  the  Index.  The  response  to  this  question, 
delivered  by  an  Irish  pastor  who  had  scarcely 
read  a  book  since  he  left  All  Hallows,  was  lame, 
stumbling  and  incoherent.  The  old  gentleman  de 
clared  that  the  authority  of  the  Index  was  based 
on  the  text :  "  If  thy  right  eye  scandalize  thee, 
pluck  it  out ;  "  maintained  that  we  know  from  theo 
logical  fitness  and  the  analogy  of  faith  that  the 
apostles  themselves  exercised  censorship ;  and  as 
serted  finally  that  the  perfection  of  Index  legisla 
tion  was  brought  about  by  the  blasphemies  scat 
tered  broadcast  at  the  time  of  the  Reformation. 

"  Very  good,"  commented  the  bishop.  "  You 
make  a  novel  and  excellent  point  in  bringing  for 
ward  that  text  of  Our  Lord's.  We  can  hardly 
doubt  that  Christ  had  in  mind  in  uttering  those 
words  the  scandal  that  would  be  caused  in  the 
world  by  evil  books.  There  is,  however,  another 
text  of  the  gospel  which  bears  still  more  directly 
on  the  matter.  Do  you  recall  it,  Father  ?  " 

The  Father  could  not  recall  it. 

"  Whatsoever  you  bind  on  earth  shall  be  bound 
also  in  heaven,"  quoted  his  lordship.  "  Surely, 
that  gives  us  immediately  a  foundation  for  such 
tribunals  as  the  Index." 

At  this  triumphant  exegesis  only  one  man 
smiled,  and  the  smile  could  not  be  called  a  pleasant 
one. 


182  THE  PRIEST 

"  Now  then,"  continued  the  bishop ;  "  let  us  hear 
Father  Wilkinson." 

Father  Wilkinson,  a  convert  from  the  Episco 
palian  ministry,  stood  up  to  answer  the  question: 
Does  the  Index  restrain  scholarship  and  liberty 
of  research? 

"  I  will  reply  by  making  a  distinction,"  Father 
Wilkinson  began.  "  Does  the  Index  check  licen 
tiousness  of  thought?  Yes.  Does  it  check  true 
Christian  liberty?  No.  Outside  the  church  we 
see  a  very  riot  of  opinions.  Owing  to  the  abomin 
able  recklessness  of  critics  and  would-be  scholars 
the  most  fundamental  articles  of  Christian  faith 
are  denied.  Even  in  Anglicanism,  that  paltry  sect 
that  imagines  itself  to  be  the  custodian  of  primitive 
Christianity,  there  are  men  in  high  ecclesiastical 
offices  who  are  abreast  with  German  infidels  in  their 
sacrilegious  denials.  Obviously  there  ought  to  be 
some  tribunal  to-day  to  say  to  man's  proud  in 
tellect  :  *  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther.' 
It  is  the  glory  of  the  church  to  possess  such  a  tri 
bunal.  And  in  answer  to  the  charge  that  the  In 
dex  is  a  drag  upon  scholarship,  we  have  only  to 
point  to  incomparable  names  like  Augustine, 
Aquinas,  Suarez  and  Bellarmine." 

"  Well  done,  Father,"  was  the  bishop's  compli 
ment.  "  Surely  it  is  a  triumphant  refutation  when 
we  can  place  Thomas  Aquinas  over  against  Her  — 
A- A- Alexander  Harnack;  when  we  can  balance 
Suarez  with-with-er-er-any  other  man  of  Har- 
nack's  school."  Again  that  smile,  half  contemp 
tuous,  half  defiant,  on  a  certain  pallid  face. 


THE  PRIEST  188 

So  the  conference  continued,  while  such  ques 
tions  were  discussed  as :  Does  the  Index  bind  even 
scholars?  Does  the  Index-law  hold  in  America? 
Must  confessors  enforce  the  Index?  and  many 
others,  to  all  which  answers  of  the  most  stringent 
orthodoxy  were  given ;  answers  which,  if  the  world 
adopted  them,  would  destroy  a  good  half  of  the 
laborious  scholarship  of  two  centuries.  During 
this  exhibition  of  militant  obscurantism  Ambrose 
Hanlon  had  sat  silent,  his  soul  tried  sorely,  but 
hoping  he  would  not  be  called  upon  and  that  he 
might  be  allowed  to  depart  in  what  peace  he  might. 
But  Bishop  Shyrne  was  not  a  man  to  allow  a  vic 
tim  fallen  opportunely  into  his  hands,  to  escape 
unscathed.  "  Father  Hanlon,"  he  called,  in  a 
tone  in  which  there  was  little  benevolence,  hardly 
courtesy  indeed. 

Ambrose  rose,  looking  somewhat  agitated,  and 
gazed  straight  into  his  lordship's  eyes. 

"  Father  Hanlon,"  said  the  bishop,  "  how  would 
you  answer  a  man  who  maintained  that  however 
justified  in  principle  the  Index  is,  it  has  been  in 
practice  over-severe,  and  has  in  point  of  fact  been 
a  discouragement  to  scholarship  ?  " 

"  I  should  find  it  very  difficult  to  answer  him," 
was  the  response,  in  a  clear,  steady  voice.  Am 
brose  was  master  of  himself  now,  and  perceived 
within  himself  the  old  joy  in  intellectual  combat 
in  which  he  had  delighted  in  his  seminary  days. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  would  admit  the 
charge  ? " 


184  THE  PRIEST 

"  To  a  great  extent,  yes." 

The  priests,  almost  to  a  man,  turned  to  look  at 
the  individual  to  whom  these  daring  admissions 
came  so  readily. 

'  You  are  a  fine  type  of  controversialist,"  was 
the  bishop's  sarcastic  comment.  "  Have  you  ever 
read  a  Catholic  apologist  who  conceded  in  this 
manner  the  accusations  of  heretics?" 

"  Never,"  came  the  answer ;  "  but  every  honest 
man  must  regard  truth  as  superior  to  the  cheap 
exigencies  of  controversy;  and  this  charge  seems 
to  me  to  be  true." 

"  Do  you  regard  the  defense  and  good  name  of 
the  Church  a  cheap  exigency  of  controversy?  " 

"  No  good  name  needs  to  be  defended  with  false 
hood,  sir."  There  was  a  suspicion  of  defiance  in 
the  words.  Ambrose  felt  it,  and  resolved  to  check 
his  rising  temper. 

"  So  you  think,"  went  on  the  bishop,  controlling 
himself  with  evident  effort ;  "  that  the  Index  has 
been  tyrannical  in  its  prohibitions.  How  do  you 
fancy  the  cardinals  who  compose  that  Congrega 
tion,  or  the  Pope  himself,  would  take  such  an  ad 
mission  from  a  priest  sworn  to  defend  the  Church? 
How  do  you  imagine  I,  your  bishop,  ought  to  take 
it?" 

"  I  have  answered  according  to  my  conscience, 
sir;  all  other  tribunals  are  inferior  to  that." 

"  You  had  better  beware,  sir,  how  you  set  up 
your  conscience,  as  you  call  it,  against  the  divine 
authority  of  the  Church."  The  bishop,  highly  ex- 


THE  PRIEST  186 

asperated,  glared  savagely  at  Ambrose,  who  made 
no  reply.  After  a  painful  pause  the  bishop  re 
sumed  his  questioning. 

"  Now,  sir,  as  a  man  so  devoted,  so  devoted,  to 
truth,  you  must  have  reasons,  you  must  have  facts, 
for  the  disorderly  opinion  which  you  have  just 
expressed.  Give  us  the  facts.  Why  do  you  hold 
that  the  Index  has  been  excessively  severe  and  un 
just?  " 

"  The  Index  and  the  Inquisition,  kindred  Con 
gregations,"  Ambrose  answered  in  a  voice  from 
which  all  trace  of  nervousness  had  disappeared; 
"  began  their  history  with  solemnly  deciding  that 
the  revolution  of  the  earth  round  the  sun  was  down 
right  formal  heresy.  Even  before  that,  the  fourth 
of  the  ten  rules  laid  down  for  the  Index  by  the 
Council  of  Trent  practically  prohibited  the  read 
ing  of  the  Bible  by  Catholics;  inasmuch  as  it  re 
quired  the  written  permission  of  the  bishop  in 
order  that  the  laity  might  read  the  Scriptures  in 
the  vernacular.  In  Italy  for  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  the  vernacular  Bible  was  absolutely  closed 
to  the  people;  and  when,  stung  by  the  shame  of 
such  a  situation,  a  zealous  priest  translated  the  al 
most  forgotten  book,  he  was  harried  and  hounded 
to  desperation  by  ecclesiastics  in  high  places. 
While  the  Pope's  temporal  power  still  flourished, 
the  Index  was  carried  out  to  the  full  within  the 
Papal  states,  with  the  result  that  ho  country  in 
Europe,  hardly  even  Turkey,  was  in  such  a  condi 
tion  of  intellectual  stagnation  as  the  pontifical 


186  THE  PRIEST 

dominions.  To-day  Catholic  scholarship  in  the 
field  of  biblical  criticism,  the  history  of  dogma,  and 
the  comparative  study  of  religion,  has  sunk  to  a 
humiliating  depth.  I  could  name  for  you,  sir, 
half  a  score  of  Catholic  scholars,  all  priests,  who 
have  locked  within  their  desks  manuscripts  which 
they  have  either  been  forbidden,  or  are  afraid  to 
publish.  Every  Catholic  student  of  the  sciences 
which  I  have  mentioned  —  sciences  which  are  to 
day  the  battle-ground  whereon  Christianity  is 
fighting  for  its  very  life  —  is  choked  to  intellectual 
death  by  the  fatal  grip  of  the  Index.  The  result 
is  that  we  are  and  long  have  been  as  dumb  dogs 
before  the  assaults  of  the  critics.  When  Voltaire 
and  the  encyclopedists  hurled  their  attacks  at 
Christianity  a  hundred  years  ago,  they  met  no 
Catholic  foemen  of  anything  like  equal  ability. 
When  Renan  wrote  his  life  of  Christ  fifty  years 
ago  the  Catholic  Church  could  bring  forward  no 
scholar  to  combat  him  with  any  hope  of  success. 
And  to-day  when  the  very  students  in  our  high 
schools  know  something  of  the  momentous  criticism 
of  Christian  origins  which  is  proceeding  from  Ger 
man,  English  and  American  universities,  the  Cath 
olic  Church  forbids  even  her  priests  to  read  the 
works  of  these  scholars,  and  seems  to  have  no  other 
defense  than  a  futile  syllabus  against  Liberalism. 
Not  that  there  are  no  Catholic  scholars.  There 
is  a  respectable  number.  But  the  Index,  and  the 
heresy-hunting  mania  of  which  the  Index  is  a  type, 
either  close  their  lips  before  they  can  speak  at  all, 


THE  PRIEST  187 

or  ex-communicate  them  if  they  do  speak.  With 
these  facts,  sir,  which  are  as  solid  as  granite,  I 
hold  and  must  hold,  as  did  many  of  the  bishops 
of  the  Vatican  Council,  that  the  history  of  the 
Index  carries  a  huge  burden  of  shame  and  disaster ; 
and  that  intellectual  repression  must  cease  in  the 
Catholic  Church,  if  the  Church  in  this  modern  age 
is  not  to  die." 

The  amazement  of  Father  Hanlon's  audience 
at  this  astounding  speech  is  hardly  to  be  described. 
The  priests  looked  at  one  another  with  questioning 
wonder  on  their  faces  as  though  they  doubted  the 
report  of  their  own  ears.  Then  they  looked  at 
Hanlon,  who  stood  in  his  place  calm  enough  in 
deed,  but  with  a  masterful  air  about  him,  like  a 
man  who  had  done  his  duty  and  feared  not.  Next 
they  looked  at  the  bishop.  Into  his  lordship's 
cheeks  had  burned  two  bright  red  spots ;  into  his 
lordship's  eyes  had  come  two  flames  of  living 
anger;  upon  his  lordship's  features  had  been 
stamped  an  aspect  that  was  hard  and  merciless 
and  bitter. 

For  half  a  minute  after  Ambrose  finished,  there 
was  silence,  forced,  tense  silence.  Then  from 
some  part  of  the  hall  sounded  a  soft  clapping  of 
hands. 

"  Silence !  "  screamed  the  bishop.  "  If  I  knew 
the  man  that  applauded  those  monstrous  senti 
ments,  I  would  suspend  him  on  the  spot.  As  for 
you,  sir, — "  Ambrose  was  not  the  only  one  whose 
cheek  grew  pale  at  the  sight  and  voice,  for  it  was 
pitiably  evident  that  Shyrne  was  quite  beside  him- 


188  THE  PRIEST 

self.  "  As  for  you,  sir,  who  have  dared  to  insult 
your  bishop  with  the  infamous  falsehoods  that  you 
have  uttered  against  the  Church  of  God,  I  declare 
that  you  have  the  mind  of  a  heretic,  the  animus  of 
a  heretic ;  and  the  world  knows  that  when  a  priest 
is  perverted  to  heresy,  impurity  is  the  cause  of  it, 
a  woman  is  the  reason  for  it." 

Ambrose  recoiled  from  the  foul  charge  as  though 
a  fist  mailed  in  iron  had  struck  his  face.  Impurity ! 
A  woman !  He  who  was  so  priestly  and  so  pure ; 
he  into  whose  mind  nothing  defiled  could  find  en 
trance;  he  whose  passion  was  righteousness,  whose 
religion  was  the  following  of  Truth  and  Christ; 
he,  held  up  before  two  hundred  priests  by  his  own 
bishop  as  a  licentious  scoundrel!  Shame  and 
anger  drove  a  crimson  tide  into  his  cheeks  and 
throbbing  temples ;  the  place  grew  dark  before 
his  eyes;  through  his  heart  shot  a  pain  as  from  a 
knife  thrust  to  the  hilt.  Saying  no  word,  he 
turned  and  with  unsteady  step  left  the  hall. 

That  night  the  door-bell  of  Josiah  Danforth's 
house  rang  at  an  unusual  hour  for  visitors.  When 
the  minister  answered  the  summons,  Father  Han- 
Ion  stood  before  him. 

"  Jo,"  he  asked ;  "  am  I  in  time  for  family 
prayer?  " 

That  some  disaster  had  happened  was  clear 
from  his  voice  and  manner.  Danforth  refrained 
from  questions  and  said :  "  Just  in  time,  Ambrose ; 
mother  has  this  minute  called  me." 

"  Let  me  join  you,"  said  the  priest.  "  I  am 
upset.  Terrible  things,  ugly,  dangerous  things, 


THE  PRIEST  189 

have  been  leaping  through  my  mind,  and  I  fear 
them.  Let  me  try  to  find  God  again  in  this 
house." 

"  Friend  Ambrose,"  began  Mrs.  Danforth's 
greeting ;  —  but  there  she  stopped  at  sight  of  the 
unutterable  misery  on  the  young  priest's  face. 
Dorothy  Wakefield,  too,  checked  her  welcome  and 
turned  pale.  Ambrose  spoke  some  conventional 
word  scarcely  audible  and  Danforth  said :  "  Now 
mother,  let  us  begin  our  prayer." 

They  knelt  down.  Father  Hanlon  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands.  Mr.  Danforth  knelt  close, 
very  close  to  him.  The  Quaker  mother  opened 
the  sacred  page.  "  And  the  high  priest  arose  and 
said  unto  Him:  Answerest  thou  nothing?  But 
Jesus  held  his  peace.  And  the  high  priest  an 
swered  and  said  unto  Him:  I  adjure  thee  by  the 
living  God  that  thou  tell  us  whether  thou  be  the 
Christ,  the  Son  of  God.  Jesus  saith  unto  him: 
Thou  hast  said.  Nevertheless,  I  say  unto  you, 
hereafter  you  shall  see  the  Son  of  Man  sitting  on 
the  right  hand  of  power  and  coming  in  the  clouds 
of  heaven.  Then  the  high  priest  rent  his  clothes, 
saying :  he  hath  spoken  blasphemy.  What  further 
need  have  we  of  witnesses;  behold  now  ye  have 
heard  his  blasphemy.  What  think  ye  ?  They  an 
swered:  He  is  guilty  of  death.  Then  did  they 
spit  in  his  face  and  buffeted  Him  and  others  smote 
Him  with  the  palms  of  their  hands."  The  sweet 
voice  ceased  and  silence  fell.  Never  in  that  house 
of  prayer  had  there  been  a  more  profound  and 
moving  meditation. 


190  THE  PRIEST 

For  twenty  minutes  there  was  no  sound.  Then 
Mrs.  Danforth  placed  the  Bible  before  her  son. 
In  a  tone  that  thrilled  with  unusual  emotion,  he 
read  these  two  verses:  **  Behold  the  boor  cometh, 
yea,  is  now  come  that  ye  shall  be  scattered  every 
man  to  his  own,  and  shall  leave  me  alone;  and  yet 
I  am  not  alone,  for  the  Father  is  with  me.  These 
things  have  I  spoken  onto  yon  that  in  me  ye  might 
have  peace.  In  the  world  ye  shall  have  tribula 
tion;  but  be  of  good  cheer;  I  have  overcome  the 
world.*9  A  minute's  further  silence  followed,  and 
Dorothy  began  the  Lord's  Prayer,  in  which  afl 
joined.  At  the  end  they  stood  up  with  grave  but 
happier  faces. 

"You  have  helped  me,  even  blessed  me  this 
night,"  said  Father  Hanlon;  "and  I  thank  you 
from  my  heart," 

"  It  is  the  divine  Spirit  that  has  blessed  and  wOl 
bless  thee,  my  son,"  said  the  aged  Quakeress,  tak 
ing  his  hand. 

"  Dear  Father  Hanlon,  you  have  helped  us,  too. 
How  great  a  blessing  that  we  can  bring  our  sor 
rows  here  to  be  aided  in  bearing  them  by  God  and 
one  another.  Sorrow  so  highly  favored  must  be 
intended  for  some  noble  and  divine  purpose."  It 
was  Dorothy  who  spoke  the  gracious  words;  and 
the  priest's  eyes  as  they  turned  to  her,  showed 
plainly  the  gratitude  of  his  bruised  heart. 


XXI 

Neither  suspension  nor  removal  from  Axton 
followed  as  a  penalty  for  Ambrose's  outspoken 
ness  at  the  conference.  The  bishop  evidently  had 
perceived  on  returning  to  a  calmer  mind  that  his 
dishonorable  insinuation  against  the  young  priest 
was  a  tactical  blunder  and  that  he  could  not  afford 
for  the  time  being  to  add  injury  to  insult.  But 
a  crisis  was  so  clearly  inevitable  that  Ambrose 
derived  but  little  comfort  from  his  temporary 
tranquillity.  Tranquillity  indeed  he  could  hardly 
be  said  to  be  enjoying.  The  storm  was  so  near 
and  so  terrible  that  his  happiest  hours  were 
clouded  with  the  foreboding  of  it.  Even  were 
there  no  trouble  with  his  bishop,  he  was  now  feel 
ing  more  and  more  the  pressure  of  another  trouble 
from  a  far  higher  and  holier  authority.  His  con 
science  was  in  revolt.  With  the  whole  administra 
tive  side  of  Catholicism  he  was  more  than  out  of 
sympathy;  he  detested  it;  he  hated  its  tyranny, 
its  secularity,  its  incompatibility  with  spiritual 
freedom.  Yet  as  priest  and  pastor,  yes,  by  his 
very  dress,  he  represented  before  the  world  every 
thing  Catholic,  Roman,  Papal,  from  the  dogmas 
of  Trent  to  the  decrees  of  the  Inquisition  and  the 
Index.  Worse  than  this,  he  was  not  subscribing 
to  the  Roman  creed  in  the  official  sense  of  its  for 
mulas.  True,  he  was  but  following  in  this  the 
leaders  of  liberal  Catholicism  who  were  forever  ex 
pressing  their  horror  of  separation  from  the 
191 


192  THE  PRIEST 

Church,  and  vindicating  their  right  to  remain  in 
it.  But  unaffected  by  their  arguments,  Father 
Hanlon's  conscience  kept  putting  to  him  the  stern 
question:  Is  it  honorable?  Is  it  truthful? 

One  night  in  his  study  he  took  pencil  and  paper 
and  proceeded  to  do  some  spiritual  and  intellectual 
book-keeping.  Precisely  at  what  points  of  belief 
had  he  arrived?  Into  what  definite  condition  had 
his  mind  and  soul  settled  after  these  months  of  ex 
perience  and  study?  His  accounting  of  himself 
was  the  following: 

"  What  do  I  think  of  the  present  method  and 
temper  of  ecclesiastical  authority?  I  abhor  it  as 
an  obstruction  in  the  path  of  liberty. 

"  Of  the  tendencies  of  modern  Catholic  devotion  ? 
Mischievous.  The  free  growth  of  the  individual 
spirit  hindered  by  machine-piety.  Hence  no  more 
great  preachers  or  independent  laymen. 

"  Of  the  Church's  attitude  to  study?     A  crime." 

Having  written  this,  he  laid  down  his  pencil, 
folded  his  arms,  and  gave  himself  to  profound 
thought.  Taking  up  the  pencil  again,  and  look 
ing  long  and  earnestly  at  the  crucifix  above  his 
desk,  he  once  more  set  to  writing. 

"  Do  I  believe  as  a  reality  in  the  fall  of  man  as 
theology  understands  it? 

"  In  baptismal  regeneration  ? 

"  In  the  exclusion  from  heaven  of  children  who 
die  unbaptized? 

"  In  the  blood-redemption  of  Christ  as  theology 
understands  it? 


THE  PRIEST  193 

"  In  the  divinity  of  Jesus  ? 

"  In  the  Deity  of  the  consecrated  bread? 

"  In  the  Deity  of  Jesus  ? 

"  That  the  Deity  of  Jesus,  the  Trinity  as  now 
understood,  the  sacrament  of  penance,  and  the 
divine  origin  of  the  episcopate  as  distinct  from 
priesthood,  were  believed  by  the  primitive  Chris 
tians?" 

On  the  priest's  face  as  he  read  this  list  of  ques 
tions  was  sternness  mingled  with  sorrow.  Never 
before  had  he  so  candidly  confronted  them.  They 
had  drifted  into  his  mind  often  and  he  had  recently 
been  conscious  of  changing  convictions  regarding 
them;  but  this  night  he  faced  them  at  last  on  the 
ultimate  ground  of  Yes  and  No.  Subterfuge  and 
crafty  methods  of  interpretation  were  flung  aside. 
He  was  in  the  presence  of  Eternal  Truth.  The 
All-searching  Eye  was  scrutinizing  his  soul.  He 
would  be  as  true  now  as  though  it  were  his  judg 
ment  hour. 

Slowly  he  moved  his  pencil  down  the  page  until 
it  rested  on  the  words :  "  In  the  divinity  of 
Jesus?"  Opposite  this  he  wrote:  Yes.  Then 
after  every  other  question  he  wrote:  No.  He  had 
come  to  terms  with  Intellect.  It  remained  now 
to  make  an  honorable  treaty  with  conscience. 
With  perfect  candor  he  listened  to  the  insistent 
demands  to  which  his  conscience  was  giving  voice. 
He  must  leave  the  church,  it  said  to  him ;  he  would 
be  dishonorable  if  he  openly  professed  what  he  in 
wardly  denied.  He  could  not  honestly  retain  his 


19*  THE  PRIEST 

private  interpretation  of  fundamental  dogmas  in  a 
church  which  denies  private  judgment  and  rests 
upon  the  basis  of  infallibility,  There  is  no  room 
for  hesitation.  Leave  the  church ! 

So  spoke  the  primitive  natural  nobility  of  the 
man.  But  was  there  not  another  side?  Had  his 
impulsive  sense  of  honor  taken  in  all  the  factors 
of  the  situation?  Had  not  his  conscience  need  of 
further  enlightenment?  There  was  surely  ground 
for  thinking  so.  Why  should  not  a  modern  Cath 
olic  interpret  dogmas  in  a  new  sense?  The  Nicean 
definition  was  new  in  its  day.  Doubtless  it  would 
have  been  unintelligible  to  the  first  Christian  con 
verts  of  Palestine.  The  language  of  Trent  re 
garding  the  Eucharist  is  surely  a  change  from  that 
of  the  first  century  Didache.  The  present  form 
of  the  sacrament  of  Penance  was  unknown  to  sev 
eral  Christian  centuries.  Why  then  may  not 
enlightened  Catholics  to-day  add  one  more  change 
to  many  preceding  changes?  Perhaps  some 
ecumenical  council  of  the  twentieth  or  twenty-first 
century  will  state  dogmatic  formulas  precisely 
as  he  was  now  understanding  them.  Furthermore 
the  liberal  Catholics  of  his  way  of  thinking  were 
not  leaving  the  church,  yet  they  were  good  and 
conscientious  men.  Finally,  how  can  Catholicism 
ever  make  the  required  modification  in  its  creed- 
statements  unless  men  who  see  the  necessity  of 
these  modifications  remain  in  the  church,  and 
quietly  disseminate  their  ideas  until  the  whole  mass 
of  believers  be  leavened? 


THE  PRIEST  195 

Impressive  as  these  considerations  were,  the 
inner  voice  would  not  be  stilled.  It  said,  and  kept 
saying:  "But  your  character  will  suffer.  You 
cannot  play  at  double-dealing  and  not  be  injured 
in  sincerity  and  honor.  You  must  not  trifle  with 
deceit  on  the  plea  that  in  a  hundred  years  it  will 
no  longer  be  deceit.  You  have  a  higher  responsi 
bility  to  your  integrity  now  than  to  a  problemati 
cal  theology  of  a  century  from  now.  Leave,  and 
be  a  martyr  of  candor,  rather  than  remain  and  be 
a  servant  of  duplicity !  " 

The  dawn  was  already  breaking  when  Ambrose, 
undecided  and  perplexed,  rose  wearily  from  this 
contention  within  his  soul,  and  flung  himself  down 
for  a  brief  and  broken  rest.  He  felt  that  in  so 
grave  a  matter  he  must  have  advice ;  and  it  admin 
istered  a  kind  of  sad  relief  to  him  that  his  moment 
ous  decision  must  be  postponed  until  he  should 
have  found  some  opportunity  for  consultation. 


XXII 

On  a  day  in  the  first  week  of  March  Axton  was 
to  elect  a  selectman  to  serve  three  years.  The 
village  was  governed  by  three  selectmen,  two  of 
whom  were  chosen  for  two  years  and  one  for  three. 
This  last,  by  the  fact  of  his  election  for  the  longer 
term,  was  chairman  of  the  board,  and  in  general 
had  greater  power  and  influence  in  the  town  gov 
ernment  than  any  other  man.  Squire  Wakefield 
had  held  the  office  for  the  past  three  years  and  was 
ambitious  to  be  re-elected.  More  than  that,  he 
was  altogether  confident  of  re-election.  For  while 
his  harshness  of  disposition  had  made  him  many 
enemies,  his  unquestioned  forcefulness  of  character 
along  with  his  wealth  and  social  position,  over 
came  the  unorganized  remonstrances  against  him, 
and  seemed  to  leave  him  a  clear  field.  In  fact,  at 
the  beginning  of  February,  not  a  single  opponent 
had  announced  his  candidacy  against  him,  and  all 
indications  pointed  to  the  Squire's  unanimous  nom 
ination,  and  all  but  unanimous  election.  True, 
there  had  been  a  remarkably  large  registration 
of  new  voters  from  the  workingmen's  colony  about 
the  car  shops ;  and  as  these  men  were  nearly  all  of 
foreign  birth,  they  could  hardly  be  expected  to 
vote  for  a  man  of  the  Squire's  well-known  prej 
udices  against  the  alien.  Still  these  recently  nat 
uralized  citizens  were  to  all  appearances  no  serious 
obstacle  to  the  happy  issue  of  Mr.  Wakefield's 

little  ambition.     They  were  unskilled  in  politics ; 
196 


THE  PRIEST  197 

they  had  thus  far  made  no  attempt,  at  least  pub 
licly,  to  unite  upon  a  candidate  of  their  own ;  and 
above  all  they  were  in  a  considerable  minority  in 
comparison  with  what  the  Squire  would  call  the 
respectable  voters  of  Axton.  So  with  election  day 
little  more  than  a  month  distant,  and  with  only 
two  weeks  remaining  of  the  legal  time  in  which  to 
file  nominations,  the  chairman  of  the  Axton  select 
men  had  no  anxiety  about  so  predestined  a  cer 
tainty  as  his  triumphant  return  to  office. 

On  the  evening  of  the  first  day  of  February, 
however,  there  assembled  in  a  rude  hall  in  the  car- 
shop  district  half  a  dozen  men  whose  deliberations 
might  well  have  caused  the  confident  Squire  an 
uneasy  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  leader  of  them 
was  Murdock;  another  was  Richard  Wakefield, 
the  outcast  son ;  a  third,  Pasquale  Ciasca ;  the 
other  three  were  among  the  cleverest  of  the  restless 
radicals  who  acknowledged  Murdock  as  chief. 

"  Well,  Murdock,"  Richard  Wakefield  was  say 
ing,  as  they  took  their  seats  about  a  small  beer- 
stained  table,  on  which  burned  a  kerosene  lamp, 
the  sole  light  in  the  large  room ;  "  I  have  done 
everything,  we  have  all  done  everything  possible; 
but  we  can't  beat  the  old  man.  I'd  give  one  of 
my  fingers  to  defeat  him  at  this  election,  but  it  is 
out  of  the  question." 

"  You  have  made  a  careful  canvass  of  the 
voters  ?  "  questioned  Murdock. 

"  I  have,"  answered  Richard.  "  There  are  in 
Axton  five  hundred  voters.  We  can  count  on  one 


198  THE  PRIEST 

hundred  and  fifty  to  do  whatever  we  tell  them. 
After  careful  inquiry,  I  estimate  that  about  fifty 
men  will  refuse  to  vote  for  the  governor,  because 
they  share  his  loving  son's  contempt  for  him. 
But  of  these  fifty,  perhaps  not  a  single  man  would 
support  a  candidate  that  represented  us.  We  are 
the  offscourings  of  the  earth,  you  know.  Don't 
look  for  a  vote  for  our  interests,  not  one,  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  the  shops." 

"  That  leaves  a  maximum  of  three  hundred  for 
the  Squire,"  ruminated  Murdock. 

"  Three  hundred,"  repeated  Richard ;  "  two  to 
our  one." 

"  Kill  some  of  them !  "  exclaimed  Ciasca.  "  Kill 
ten,  twenty,  fifty!  Dat  dog  Danfort!  Blow  up 
his  church.  Kill  dem !  "  he  shouted,  bringing  down 
his  fist  with  a  tremendous  blow  that  seemed  likely 
to  shatter  the  unsteady  table  into  fragments. 

"  Pasquale,"  said  Murdock  with  a  smile ;  "  I  be 
lieve  you  would  do  it,  and  a  good  service  it  would 
be.  But  we  cannot  afford  such  measures  now. 
Let  us  see  if  strategy  cannot  accomplish  something. 
Dick,  haven't  you  underestimated  the  opposition 
to  your  old  man?  He  has  made  enemies  right  and 
left.  I  am  sure  more  than  fifty  voters  have  turned 
against  him." 

"  Well,"  answered  the  dutiful  son  of  the  "  old 
man,"  "  there's  one  feature  of  the  case  that  I  am 
somewhat  in  the  dark  about.  My  beloved  dad  is 
fighting  minister  Danforth.  He  seems  to  share 
Pasquale's  grudge  against  him.  Now  Danforth 


THE  PRIEST  199 

is  a  popular  man;  and  the  governor's  hostility  to 
him  will  surely  lose  some  votes  over  and  above 
that  fifty,  to  the  dear  old  duffer.  But  what  is  the 
use  talking?  We  can't  get  in  our  man;  the  ma 
jority  against  us  is  too  big.  My  advice  is:  Don't 
nominate  a  candidate  at  this  election;  but  work 
quietly  for  another  year  or  two,  and  then  we  may 
stand  a  fair  chance  of  winning." 

"  No !  "  protested  Pasquale ;  "  we  must  have 
a-what  you  call  ?  —  candidate.  We  fight  for  him. 
We  mak'  speech.  We  work  lak  hell.  We  win." 

"  Three  hundred  votes !  "  mused  Murdock,  too 
accustomed  to  the  explosions  of  his  Italian  lieu 
tenant  to  pay  much  attention  to  them.  "  I  am 
sure  he  cannot  poll  over  two  hundred  and  fifty. 
We  have  at  the  lowest  one  hundred  and  fifty.  The 
question  of  practical  politics  is,  how  can  we  divert 
one  hundred  votes  from  the  snob  Wakefield?  Ex 
cuse  me,  Dick,  for  thus  referring  to  your  Daddy." 

"  Say  what  you  please  about  him,"  snapped 
Dick.  "  I'm  through  with  him  and  I  want  to  lick 
him  worse  than  you  do.  But  you  can't  overcome 
that  hundred  votes  to  save  your  life.  A  hundred 
votes  is  a  tremendous  figure  in  a  village  of  this 
size." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that.  A  few  deep 
thoughts  are  running  through  my  mind  that  may 
upset  your  old  man's  hopes  and  realize  ours.  You 
say  the  Squire  is  fighting  a  losing  game  against 
Danforth?  " 

"  Yes,  a  losing  game.     For  while  a  certain  num- 


200  THE  PRIEST 

ber  of  Danforth's  congregation  agree  with  this 
father  of  mine  that  the  minister  has  too  many  wild 
ideas,  and  associates  too  much  with  the  unclean 
herd  at  the  settlement-house;  and  while  others  of 
them  are  kicking  because  Danforth  has  taken  up 
two  or  three  collections  in  church  for  his  work 
among  us  foreigners,  still  he  has  with  him  the  ma 
jority  of  both  pew-holders  and  trustees.  The  old 
man  will  never  succeed  in  getting  the  parish  to  re 
quest  Danforth's  resignation." 

"  When  is  the  next  meeting  of  the  trustees,  do 
you  know?  "  asked  Murdock. 

"  The  first  Sunday  in  March,"  answered  Rich 
ard.  "  Their  custom  is  to  meet  on  the  first  Sun 
day  of  every  second  month." 

"  The  first  Sunday  in  March,"  Murdock  re 
peated.  "  That  is  two  days  before  election. 
Splendid!  Dick,"  he  said  gaily,  laying  his  hand 
on  young  Wakefield's  shoulder;  "  suppose  we  fight 
on  your  old  man's  side  for  once.  Let's  give  Dan 
forth  a  black  eye  so  that  the  Squire  may  be  en 
couraged  to  go  after  him  for  a  knock-out  at  the 
trustees'  meeting.  The  deeper  we  drive  the  wedge 
of  this  quarrel,  you  understand,  the  bigger  the 
result  at  the  ballot  box." 

"  You  are  running  after  a  will-o- the- wisp,"  said 
Richard ;  "  but  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  Leave  that  to  me,"  answered  Murdock.  "  I'll 
think  out  a  scheme  that  will  turn  aside  twenty-five 
or  thirty  votes  from  the  Squire  if  I  know  anything 
about  politics." 


THE  PRIEST  201 

"  What  good  will  that  do  ?  "  was  Richard's  petu 
lant  question.  "  There  is  still  a  safe  majority  of 
seventy-five." 

"  But,"  replied  Murdock,  with  an  astute  smile ; 
"  there  is  going  to  be  nominated  a  third  indepen 
dent  ticket  since  the  Squire's  enemies  won't  vote 
for  our  man.  On  this  ticket  will  run  an  eminently 
respectable  gentleman  —  that  word  respectable  is 
a  great  word  —  who  will  get  enough  support  to 
give  us  outcasts  of  the  car-shops  a  fair  fighting 
chance  for  the  chief  office  of  the  town  government 
of  Axton.  And  the  name  of  this  independent 
candidate,  this  respectable  gentleman,  who  will  be 
the  means  of  victory  for  us,  is  Mr.  Richard  Wake- 
field." 

"  Murdock,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  exclaimed  the 
young  man  thus  honored.  "  I  run  against  my 
father?  " 

"  Oh,  have  you  filial  scruples  about  doing  so?  " 
was  Murdock's  sarcastic  question. 

"  No,  I  have  no  filial  scruples,"  came  the  sharp 
reply;  "but—" 

"  Then  what's  the  matter  with  my  scheme? " 
put  in  Murdock,  no  less  sharply.  "  I'll  run  as  a 
Socialist.  The  voters  disgruntled  with  old  Wake- 
field  will  vote  for  young  Wakefield,  at  least  many 
of  them  will,  of  course  not  expecting  to  elect  you ; 
they  don't  want  to  elect  you.  But  they  will  vote 
for  you  because  of  their  grudge  and  because  you 
are  respectable.  Then  our  solid  block  of  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  cast  for  me,  for  you  are  all  urging 


202  THE  PRIEST 

me  to  be  a  candidate  if  we  are  to  have  one  at  all, 
will  have  a  fair  chance  of  deciding  the  day.  Dick, 
there  is  only  one  side  to  the  question.  Of  course 
you  will  run." 

"  But  I  am  known  to  be  mixed  up  with  you  fel 
lows,"  objected  Dick,  who  was  instinctively  shrink 
ing  from  the  unnatural  position  into  which  the 
older  man  was  forcing  him. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Murdock,  with  the  easy  way 
of  a  man  who  tosses  aside  an  insignificant  objec 
tion  ;  "  in  a  general  way  it  is  known  that  you  have 
associated  with  us  more  than  Puritan  prejudice 
would  approve ;  but  no  one  outside  our  own  group 
is  aware  of  how  intimately  you  are  bound  to  us. 
There  is  no  question  that  you  will  poll  from  fifty 
to  seventy-five  votes.  -  That  means  that  with  good 
fighting  we  will  win.  And  Richard,  my  boy,  when 
I  am  chairman  of  the  Axton  selectmen,  you  will  be 
well  rewarded  for  your  assistance." 

The  other  four  men  added  their  importunities 
to  Murdock's,  and  before  the  conference  closed  the 
nomination  papers  of  Richard  Wakefield  were 
drawn  up  according  to  law. 


XXIII 

One  evening,  a  week  after  the  hatching  of  the 
political  plot  just  described,  Squire  Amos  Wake- 
field  sat  alone  in  his  library  in  high  good  humor. 
The  note-book  containing  complaints  against  the 
Reverend  Josiah  Danforth  lay  open  on  the  desk 
before  him,  and  in  his  hand  was  a  large  sheet  of 
paper  well  covered  with  transcriptions  from  the 
complaints  aforesaid.  The  Squire,  tilted  back  in 
his  chair,  was  nodding  and  smiling  at  this 
latter  document  with  infinite  complacency. 
Events  were  most  providentially  playing  into  his 
hand.  The  upstart  minister's  doom  was  written 
and  sealed;  and  soon  Axton  should  have  got  rid 
of  him,  and  obtained  a  minister  for  First  Church 
who  should  be  neither  fool  nor  fanatic,  but  such  a 
man  as  was  demanded  by  Puritan  proprieties. 

Three  nights  previously  the  classes  at  Danforth's 
settlement-house  had  been  broken  up  by  a  gang 
of  ruffians.  On  the  following  night  the  disorder 
was  repeated,  and  Danforth  himself  rather  roughly 
dealt  with.  Next  morning  two  or  three  of  the 
trustees  called  on  the  minister  and  besought  him  to 
suspend  his  classes  for  at  least  a  month.  Dan 
forth  refused.  He  was  going  to  show  no  white 
feather  to  Murdock's  miserable  mob.  Appeals  on 
the  ground  of  "  respectability,"  and  "  the  dignity 
of  your  office,"  availed  nothing.  So  on  the  even 
ing  just  preceding  the  one  on  which  we  have  looked 

in  upon  the  Squire  complacent  and  smiling  in  his 
203 


204  THE  PRIEST 

library,  the  dauntless  Danforth  appeared  before 
his  pupil-comrades  at  Fraternity  House.  These 
pupil-comrades  were  his  friends;  and,  angered  at 
the  happenings  of  the  two  preceding  evenings,  had 
assembled  this  night  in  no  mood  to  give  ground 
before  the  ruffians  who  had  twice  dispersed  them. 
The  ruffians  arrived  again ;  the  pupil-comrades  met 
them  manfully  —  and  for  the  first  time  in  the  his 
tory  of  Axton,  the  two  village  constables,  and  half 
an  hour  later  the  volunteer  men,  were  frantically 
summoned  to  quell  a  riot.  Josiah  Danforth  took 
home  with  him  that  night  a  pair  of  badly  discolored 
eyes,  which  all  the  world  might  see,  and  a  deeply 
discouraged  heart,  which  only  he  himself,  through 
a  mist  of  tears,  might  see. 

The  next  morning  Fraternity  House  was  in 
ashes. 

Amos  Wakefield's  thoughts  as  he  sat  in  his 
library  that  night  smiling  at  the  indictment  of  his 
pastor  on  the  paper  before  him,  may  be  para 
phrased  as  follows :  "  I  think  our  fast-galloping 
young  minister  is  knocked  out  of  the  saddle  at  last. 
He  will  soon  realize  that  wild  runaways  and  vulgar 
radicals  are  not  wanted  in  the  Unitarian  church 
or  in  Puritan  communities.  In  the  Salvation 
Army  or  in  Romanism  he  may  find  an  environment 
of  congenial  folly;  but  whatever  becomes  of  him, 
thank  heaven  his  hours  in  Axton  are  numbered. 
In  demanding  his  resignation  at  the  trustees' 
meeting,  I  must  make  the  speech  of  my  life.  Let 
me  run  through  once  more  the  headings  of  my 
charges  against  him: 


THE  PRIEST  205 

He  insulted  one  of  his  trustees  in  open  town- 
meeting. 

He  is  scandalously  friendly  with  the  Roman 
priest  here. 

He  has  descended  to  vulgar  familiarity  with 
foreign  laborers. 

He  has  neglected  his  duty  to  his  parish:  First 
by  abandoning  our  Sunday  night  service  in  order 
to  preach  to  his  anarchist  and  Romanist  aliens; 
and  secondly,  by  running  about  the  country  in  the 
interests  of  his  idiotic  league  of  something-or- 
other. 

He  publicly  insulted  his  brethren  in  the  min 
istry  in  a  speech  at  our  theological  school.  (Note : 
Read  the  professor's  letter.) 

He  has  imposed  on  the  parish  an  unwarranted 
and  unauthorized  burden  by  taking  up  collections 
for  his  foolish  Fraternity  House. 

He  has  been  the  cause  of  and  has  taken  part 
in,  fighting  and  rioting. 

He  has  humiliated  his  congregation  by  working 
for  his  anarchists  with  so  little  fruit  that  the  ob 
jects  of  his  fanatical  zeal  have  just  burned  his 
settlement-house  to  the  ground. 

All  this  proves  that  Axton  First  Church  has 
for  its  pastor  a  hair-brained  zealot,  an  unbalanced 
man,  an  improper  minister,  and  must,  therefore, 
in  sheer  self-respect  take  measures  to  get  rid  of 
him.  We  cannot  have  this  man  on  our  nerves  any 
longer,  not  knowing  what  foolish  and  humiliating 
venture  he  will  undertake  next.  It  is  high  time 


206  THE  PRIEST 

that  the  congregation  return  to  a  normal  and 
orderly  religious  life  under  a  sane  and  conserva 
tive  pastor,  who  will  have  some  regard  for  the 
decencies  of  his  position,  and  at  least  a  small 
measure  of  respect  for  the  traditions  of  our  Puri 
tan  fathers. 

"  A  pretty  strong  case !  A  pretty  strong  case ! 
And  when  I  clinch  it  by  warning  the  trustees  that 
in  all  probability  Danforth  will  call  upon  the 
parish  to  build  a  new  settlement-house,  I  think 
those  honorable  gentlemen,  whose  pockets  are  more 
obnoxious  to  argument  than  their  heads,  will  de 
cide  to  recommend  to  the  congregation  that  Josiah 
Danforth  be  dismissed.  And  I  feel  sure  the  con 
gregation  will  not  disregard  the  recommendation. 
For  however  foolishly  some  of  them  worship  the 
ground  he  stands  on,  they  will  see  that  it  is  better 
to  send  him  away  and  thus  bring  the  trouble  to 
a  speedy  conclusion,  than  to  create  permanent  dis 
cord  in  the  church  by  retaining  him.  So,  Mr. 
Danforth,  I  surmise  that  we  are  about  to  bid  you 
an  affectionate  adieu." 

Squire  Wakefield  was  still  sucking  the  sweet 
ness  out  of  this  delicious  expectation  when  the  door 
bell  rang,  and  a  Mr.  Perry,  who  was  the  Squire's 
political  manager,  was  announced.  A  moment 
later  Mr.  Perry  stepped  into  the  room.  Barely 
returning  Mr.  Wakefield's  unusually  genial  greet 
ing,  Perry  in  notable  agitation  asked :  "  Have  you 
heard  the  astounding  news  ?  " 

"  What  astounding  news  ?  "  said  the  Squire. 


THE  PRIEST  207 

"  About  your  son." 

"  What  about  my  son?  " 

"  Then  you  haven't  heard  of  it.  Your  son 
Richard  is  circulating  his  nomination  papers  for 
the  office  of  selectman.  Though  he  began  only 
this  afternoon  I  understand  he  has  already  ob 
tained  the  fifty  signatures  required  by  law  to  en 
able  him  to  stand  as  candidate." 

"  In  heaven's  name,  is  this  true  ?  Will  he  run 
against  his  father,  against  me?  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Wakefield,  his  face  drawn  and  white. 

"  It  is  true,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of 
it,"  answered  Perry.  "  Murdock,  too,  is  to  be 
nominated;  and  if  I  could  believe  your  son  guilty 
of  so  infamous  an  action,  I  should  say  he  is  en 
deavoring  to  split  your  vote  in  order  that  Murdock 
may  win.  He  must  know  that  he  has  no  possible 
chance  himself." 

Amos  Wakefield  was  silent  a  long  time.  The 
knife  had  been  driven  deep.  At  last  he  said: 
"  Perry,  let  us  not  worry  about  it.  On  its  politi 
cal  side  this  thing  cannot  hurt  us.  I  cannot  possi 
bly  lose.  In  fact,  were  my  election  not  already 
certain,  this  infamous  action,  as  you  well  call  it, 
would  make  it  so.  And  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  personal 
sorrow  to  me  I  can  bear  it,  as  I  have  borne  many 
other  sorrows  from  the  same  source." 

"  Mr.  Wakefield,"  said  the  practical  politician ; 
"  I  fear  you  underestimate  the  political  impor 
tance  of  this  matter.  In  my  opinion,  sir,  we  must 
do  everything  in  our  power  to  keep  our  support 


208  THE  PRIEST 

intact,  and  carefully  avoid  dissension  in  our 
ranks." 

"  Well?  "  queried  the  Squire,  who  had  been  only 
half  listening. 

"  Well,"  insisted  Mr.  Perry ;  "  to  bring  the  case 
right  down  to  particulars,  you  are  endangering 
your  prospects  of  election  by  your  opposition  to 
Mr.  Danforth.  It  is  rumored  that  at  the  next 
meeting  of  the  trustees  you  will  propose  that  Mr. 
Danforth  be  dismissed.  If  you  do  that  you  can 
expect  no  support  from  the  minister's  many 
friends.  You  will  lose  so  many  votes  by  such  an 
action  that,  to  speak  frankly,  Murdock  will  have 
as  good  a  chance  of  winning  as  yourself." 

Amos  Wakefield  turned  a  cold,  stern  look  upon 
the  manager  of  his  campaign  and  said  in  delib 
erate,  level  tones,  which  bespoke  an  absolute  final 
ity  of  decision :  "  Mr.  Perry,  I  intend  to  propose 
the  dismissal  of  Mr.  Danforth  at  the  trustees' 
next  meeting;  and  if  I  am  then  alive  no  power  on 
earth  will  deter  me  from  it.  This  affair  of  Dan- 
forth's  has  come  to  a  head,  and  I  should  fail  in 
my  duty  if  I  yielded  to  expediency,  and  neglected 
the  timeliest  possible  opportunity  to  do  a  service 
to  my  church  and  my  native  town.  I  am  ready 
to  accept  all  the  consequences  of  this  action;  but 
I  am  sure  that  there  are  enough  voters  in  Axton 
who  admire  courage  and  conviction,  to  elect  me. 
I  have  no  fear  for  the  election,  sir." 

Mr.  Perry  made  no  further  remonstrance,  for 
he  knew  Squire  Wakefield  too  well,  and  in  a  few 
moments  he  was  gone. 


THE  PRIEST  209 

Mr.  Wakefield  sat  in  his  library  until  a  late 
hour.  But  he  studied  his  brief  against  the  min 
ister  no  more,  and  the  smile  had  departed  from 
his  face.  A  brief  had  been  drawn  up  against  him 
self  by  the  very  hand  and  brain  to  which  he  had 
given  life.  This  was  the  indictment  which  now 
in  the  deep  night-silences  clamored  in  his  ears ; 
this  the  disgrace  which  gripped  his  heart  and 
pressed  into  it  the  agony  and  bitterness  that  only 
a  father's  outraged  heart  can  feel. 


XXIV 

Father  Hanlon  was  off  on  his  tour  of  consulta 
tion.  He  had  made  provision  to  supply  his  pulpit 
for  one  Sunday,  and  set  out  to  take  counsel  of 
two  or  three  priests  reputed  to  be  among  the  most 
learned  in  his  church.  His  hopes  of  finding  con 
solation  from  them  were  not  too  high.  A  sub 
conscious  voice  kept  telling  him  that  hope  was 
dead.  Were  it  merely  a  lack  of  apologetic  erudi 
tion  that  troubled  him,  he  would  be  approaching 
the  wise  men  on  whom  he  was  to  call,  in  full  con 
fidence  that  from  their  ample  scholarship  he  would 
obtain  the  fullest  information  and  the  clearest  light 
that  Catholic  scholarship  could  give.  But  his 
need  was  too  deep  for  merely  academic  help.  His 
mind  was  changed;  his  mental  standards  altered; 
his  spiritual  outlook  wholly,  and,  as  it  appeared, 
hopelessly  un-Catholic.  He  might  learn  some  new 
form  of  the  argument  for  Christ's  deity.  But  his 
very  idea  of  Deity  had  grown  so  great  and  awful 
that  his  soul  recoiled  from  the  notion  that  that 
Infinite  could  be  a  wailing  infant,  a  growing  Jewish 
lad,  a  suffering,  struggling,  praying  man.  Like 
wise  these  learned  doctors  might  dress  up  in  new 
raiment  the  dogma  of  Christ's  blood-redemption. 
But  his  moral  standards  could  not  tolerate  the  con 
ception  of  one  God-person  bleeding  and  dying  to 
placate  another  God-person,  and  of  the  human 
race  coming  back  into  a  just  God's  favor  through 

the  murder  of  an  entirely  innocent  sacrificial  vic- 
910 


THE  PRIEST  211 

tim.  His  soul,  far  more  than  his  mind,  was  un 
orthodox;  and  how  much  harder  it  is  to  refashion 
a  soul  than  to  re-convince  a  mind !  "  No  hope !  " 
tolled  the  voice  within ;  and  No  hope !  began  to  be 
graven  more  unmistakably  on  that  pale  young 
face. 

The  momentary  relief  of  changed  surroundings 
was  vouchsafed  him  as  he  left  the  train  five  hun 
dred  miles  from  Axton.  His  step  became  buoyant 
as  he  walked  the  streets  of  a  city  where  all  was  new. 
Were  these  little  stirrings  of  content,  he  asked 
himself,  merely  due  to  the  fresh  appeal  of  an  un 
familiar  place?  or — and  something  in  his  heart 
answered  a  triumphant  "  Yes  !  "  as  he  put  the  ques 
tion  —  or  did  they  arise  because  this  new  city 
where  he  was  alone  and  free  for  a  few  hours,  was 
only  an  anticipation  of  a  whole  new  life  before  him 
in  which  he  would  be  alone  perhaps,  but  free  for 
ever?  It  was  glorious  to  be  free!  His  step 
quickened  at  the  radiant  thought.  Then  why  not 
be  free?  Here  is  the  wide  world  where  no  one 
knows  you.  Above  is  the  spacious  heaven  where 
One  does  know  you.  Be  free !  Relieve  this  mind 
in  prison,  this  soul  in  chains !  Be  the  free  disciple 
of  the  Infinite,  not  the  cowardly  bondman  of  Se 
bastian  Shyrne ! 

It  was  a  thrilling  interior  experience.  Two 
spots  of  red  showed  in  the  thin  cheeks.  A  light 
of  ardor  flashed  from  the  dejected  eyes.  The 
mobile  mouth  grew  stern.  Had  he  just  then  stood 
in  a  battle  column  going  into  a  charge  he  would 
have  looked  no  different. 


212  THE  PRIEST 

"  Yes,"  said  he  to  his  own  soul ;  "  I  will  be  free. 
But  I  must  first  be  right,  and  I  am  now  trying  to 
be  right." 

At  the  seminary  where  lived  the  professor  of 
Scripture  whom  he  was  seeking,  he  had  to  wait 
but  a  few  minutes  before  the  celebrated  scholar 
entered  the  parlor. 

"  Doctor,"  was  Ambrose's  greeting  to  the  thick 
set  man  of  fifty,  who  stood  before  him ;  "  I  must 
ask  you  to  excuse  me  for  the  moment  from  giving 
my  name.  I  have  come  to  consult  you  on  a  very 
delicate  matter,  and  I  wish  to  wait  before  telling 
you  who  I  am,  until  I  can  see  if  you  can  help  me." 

"  Have  it  so  if  you  wish.  What  is  your  trouble  ? 
Is  your  faith  in  danger?  " 

Ambrose  was  naturally  somewhat  startled  at 
this  divining  of  his  condition.  Doubtless  this  man 
had  been  consulted  more  than  once  in  similar  cases. 
Still  this  immediate  approach  to  the  subject  be 
fore  them  made  it  easier  for  him  to  begin ;  and  in 
a  few  minutes'  rapid  narration  he  described  the 
progress  of  his  studies,  and  the  conclusions  to 
which  they  had  forced  him. 

"  My  apologetic  for  Catholicism,"  began  the 
professor,  when  Ambrose  finished ;  "  is  on  these 
lines.  I  see  God  in  the  history  of  the  Hebrew  peo 
ple.  I  see  God  in  the  prophets  who  prepared  the 
world  for  Christ.  I  see  God  in  Christ.  And  I 
see  God  in  the  history  of  the  Church.  Outside 
these  events  and  personalities  of  history  I  cannot 
see  God.  Therefore,  since  I  believe  in  God,  I 


THE  PRIEST 

believe  in  His  supreme  manifestations  in  the 
prophets,  Christ  and  Catholicism.  Do  you  not 
think  that  this  is  sufficient  foundation  for  faith  ?  " 

"  I  see  God,  too,  in  these  providential  happen 
ings,"  answered  Ambrose ;  "  but  that  reasoning 
is  too  summary.  Because  I  believe  in  the  divine 
as  it  appears  in  the  prophets,  Christ  and  Catho 
licity,  must  I,  therefore,  believe  in  Christ's  Deity, 
the  very  God-presence  in  the  Eucharist,  and  in 
blood-redemption?  I  see  God  wherever  godlike 
lives  are  lived.  I  see  God  in  some  measure  in  every 
religion  from  Babylonian  mythology  to  the  Sal 
vation  Army ;  but  surely  that  does  not  bind  me  to 
any  definite  theology  ?  " 

"  The  prophets,"  replied  the  learned  man, 
"  were  the  highest  revelation  of  God  before  Christ. 
Had  I  lived  in  their  day  I  should  have  believed  in 
them  as  such.  Catholicism  is  the  highest  revela 
tion  of  God  now.  Nothing  can  bring  me  nearer 
to  God  than  the  Catholic  religion.  Therefore,  I 
believe  in  it." 

"  Does  that  satisfy  you  as  to  the  eternal  truth 
of  each  particular  Catholic  dogma?"  asked  Am 
brose. 

"  Yes.  If  Catholicism  be  false,  we  are  under  a 
colossal  hallucination.  It  must  be  true  or  God 
would  be  guilty  of  having  led  nineteen  centuries 
into  abomination  and  idolatry." 

"But,"  objected  Ambrose,  "millions  of  people 
have  believed  in  false  religions  for  a  far  longer 
time  than  Christianity  has  yet  existed.  It  seems 


THE  PRIEST 

to  me  you  lay  too^much  stress  or  at  least  put  too 
narrow  an  interpretation  upon  that  word  '  true.' 
All  religions  are  in  a  measure  true,  inasmuch  as 
they  help  the  human  spirit  to  grow  toward  God. 
This  is  their  divine,  their  religious,  their  eternal 
truth.  But  the  formulated  theologies  of  these 
religions  are  always  turning  out  to  be  defective. 
And  the  duty  of  every  age  in  the  historic  evolu 
tion  of  humanity  is,  while  holding  to  the  religious 
truth  of  the  past,  to  improve  upon  the  imperfect 
theology  of  the  past.  There  is  no  question  of 
God's  being  responsible  for  deceiving  us.  In  giv 
ing  Catholicism  He  gave  mankind  a  spiritually 
true,  that  is  a  spiritually  beautiful  and  helpful 
religion  —  a  religion  so  true,  in  fact,  in  this  deeper 
sense  of  the  word,  that  the  world  to  the  end  of  time 
may  well  devoutly  study  it.  But  the  fitness  of  a 
religion  for  our  spiritual  helpfulness  is  quite  a  dif 
ferent  thing  from  the  fitness  of  a  theology  for  our 
intellectual  acceptance.  My  difficulty  is  that  I 
have  come  to  believe  that  theologies  must  change; 
and  that  dogmas  must  die  in  old  forms  to  be  born 
in  new  and  freer  forms.  Had  I  the  outlook  upon 
the  universe  which  the  Nicene  theologians  had,  I 
should  have  no  difficulty  in  believing  that  the  vic 
tim  of  a  Jewish  mob  was  the  Eternal  Infinite. 
But  my  outlook  upon  the  universe  is  other  and 
wider  than  theirs,  since  I  live  in  a  later  and  vastly 
more  intelligent  age,  and  I  cannot  believe  in  a 
Deity  who  thus  localizes  and  as  it  were,  paro- 
chializes  himself." 


THE  PRIEST     ,  215 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  beyond  my  help,"  said 
the  professor.  "  You  are  in  a  state  of  mind  not 
to  be  improved  by  any  scriptural  information  that 
I  might  give  you.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  if 
I  were  convinced  that  Catholicism  were  not  true, 
I  should  fling  off  the  restraints  of  moral  living,  and 
indulge  my  passions  according  to  my  fancy.  I 
should  cease  to  believe  in  the  authority  of  the  moral 
law,  in  immortality,  or  any  other  basic  religious 
idea." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Ambrose ;  "  you  cannot 
mean  that  ?  " 

"  I  do  mean  it,"  was  the  positive  answer. 

"  Why,"  protested  Ambrose ;  "  right  and  wrong         . 
remain  if  all  the  theologies  in  the  world  were  folly.      y\ 
The    sacredness    of   duty,   the    dominion    of   con 
science,  the  high  value  of  human  life,  the  being  of        i 
God  —  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  these  eternal    V 
verities  graven  in  the  soul  of  man,  depend  upon    A 
the  accuracy  of  any  Bible,  or  the  correctness  of 
any  system  of  theology?  " 

"  If  I  thought  Catholicism  untrue,  these  things 
would  mean  nothing  to  me,"  insisted  the  professor. 

Ambrose  rose,  with  mingled  pity  and  scorn  in 
his  heart  for  so  utterly  primitive  and  barbaric  a 
religious  philosophy. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  he  said ;  "  for  giving  me 
so  much  of  your  valuable  time." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  the  other  man,  "  you 
would  do  well  to  see  our  professor  of  philosophy. 
Your  difficulties  are  mainly  of  a  philosophical 
order." 


216  THE  PRIEST 

"  I  am  too  tired  just  now,"  Ambrose  answered; 
"  but  I  am  much  obliged  to  you." 

So  this  was  all  that  the  Catholic  scholarship 
could  do  for  him !  This  big,  sweeping,  unscientific 
apology,  as  crude  as  the  pretentious  scheme  of 
Bossuet's  Universal  History ;  this  revolting  relic 
of  savagery,  that  the  highest  ideals  of  the  immortal 
spirit  of  man  stand  or  fall  with  texts,  theologies 
and  hierarchies,  were  all  that  a  trained  Catholic 
intellect  could  offer  to  his  truth-seeking  soul! 
Ambrose  tried  not  to  yield  to  the  bitterness  and 
disgust  that  besieged  him,  for  he  understood  that 
passion  ill  associated  with  the  reverent  mood  in 
which  he  should  pursue  his  search  for  Truth;  but 
his  disappointment  was  so  profound,  his  disillusion 
so  complete,  that  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
felt  tempted  to  despise  the  faith  of  which  he  was 
a  priest.  A  system  that  could  so  twist  a  man's 
mind  and  so  pervert  a  man's  moral  judgment,  thus 
surged  his  rebellious  thoughts,  should  be  scorned 
by  every  candid  soul.  It  should  be  pitched  into 
the  lumber  room  of  a  hundred  other  decayed  theol 
ogies,  a  hundred  other  hierarchal  tyrannies,  and 
allowed  to  obstruct  the  free  growth  of  souls  no 
longer. 

From  these  unworthy  feelings,  however,  he 
prayed  to  be  delivered.  It  was  no  time  for  anger, 
but  rather  a  time  for  sorrow.  For  was  it  not 
clear  that  he  had  ceased  to  be  a  Catholic,  and  that 
he  had  incurred  that  fate  from  which  training  and 
instinct  made  him  shrink  in  terror,  the  "  Loss  of 


THE  PRIEST  217 

faith?"  Loss  of  faith!  That  beautiful  heroic 
faith  of  earlier  days!  The  faith  that  placed  him 
in  the  company  of  apostles,  saints  and  martyrs ! 
The  faith  that  had  woven  into  the  very  texture 
of  his  soul  the  sense  of  priestliness  and  consecra 
tion!  The  faith  of  his  father,  mother,  sister! 
Ah!  God,  here  was  the  crudest  pang;  here  were 
Gethsemane  and  Calvary !  He  pictured  himself 
standing  before  his  mother  and  Margaret  in  their 
little  home,  and  saying:  "Mother,  sister,  I  have 
left  the  priesthood  and  the  Church.  I  have  fol 
lowed  my  conscience,  but  have  brought  disgrace 
and  a  sorrow  that  only  death  will  heal,  to  you. 
I  must  leave  you,  for  my  presence  would  but  keep 
the  wound  in  your  heart  forever  open,  fresh  and 
bleeding.  I  must  go  away  into  a  world  and  a  life 
unknown,  and  let  you  live  and  die  in  grief.  Good- 
by!" 

Terrifying,  overwhelming,  the  vision  rose  be 
fore  his  inward  eye.  The  mother  whose  gentle 
heart  had  taken  such  pride  in  him ;  the  sister,  loyal 
little  Margaret,  that  so  worshipped  him,  stricken 
prostrate  by  his  hand!  Never!  Never!  Never! 
The  son  and  brother,  resolute  in  the  power  of 
earth's  mightiest  affection,  replaced  the  wavering, 
faltering  priest.  Suffer?  Yes!  Eat  out  his 
heart  in  voiceless  sorrow?  Yes!  Ruin  his  young 
career?  Yes!  Live  untrue  to  conscience?  Yes! 
to  spare  them,  Yes !  What  after  all  was  this  iron- 
hearted  Truth,  to  demand  the  blood-sacrifice  of  his 
dearest  and  best-beloved?  Must  all  other  ideals 


218  THE  PRIEST 

be  shattered  into  fragments  to  obey  this  one  alone? 
Had  Truth  all  rights,  and  Charity  none?  In  a 
conflict  between  Love  and  Truth,  Mercy  and  Con 
science,  why  had  not  Love  and  Mercy  as  good  a 
claim  to  precedence  as  the  other  two?  Whence 
and  why  this  exclusive  idolatry  of  Truth  that 
bade  him  desecrate  all  other  altars,  even  the  holiest 
and  earliest  that  his  life  had  known  ?  "  Mother 
and  Margaret  come  first !  "  his  heart  passionately 
protested.  "  Live  in  your  agony ;  die  of  it ;  be 
what  the  world  calls  a  hypocrite;  but  spare  them, 
mother  and  Margaret !  " 

Yet  above  these  apparently  resistless  tides  of 
nature  shone  the  persistent  Truth-Ideal.  With 
no  passion  in  its  tone,  no  feeling  in  its  accents, 
it  spoke  and  spoke  again  its  imperious  command. 
And  Ambrose  seemed  to  see  assembling  about  that 
sovereign  Form  the  chosen  spirits  of  humanity  — 
men  who  had  abandoned  riches  and  embraced  pov 
erty;  men  who  had  seen  the  doors  of  home  closed 
in  their  faces ;  men  who  had  gone  forth  alone  into 
freezing  exile  and  eaten  the  crust  of  the  outcast; 
men  who  had  wasted  away  in  dungeons;  men  who 
had  given  their  bodies  to  the  rack,  the  screw  and 
the  lash ;  men  who  had  mounted  the  pile  of  faggots 
and  suffered  the  torture  of  devouring  fire.  Be 
cause  they  had  loved  Truth  and  shrank  not  from 
the  martyr's  witness  against  falsehood,  had  they 
done  these  things  —  and  lo !  they  were  God's  elect 
and  the  saints  of  her  mankind.  "Will  you  join 
us  ?  "  they  seemed  sternly  to  ask  Ambrose  Hanlon. 


THE  PRIEST  219 

"Will  you  join  us?"  and  as  the  question  pene 
trated  to  his  heart,  and  spoke  its  challenge  to  his 
will,  his  conscience  and  his  soul,  that  other  loud 
cry  of  wounded  nature  died  away,  and  he  saw  and        / 
heard  only  that  the  manifestation  of  Deity  called      j^ 
Truth,  with  these  its  soldiers   and  martyrs,  and     ' 
from  his  inmost  being  arose  his  answer :    "  I  will !  " 


XXV 

Ambrose  determined  to  consult  only  one  other 
of  the  three  of  four  men  whom  he  had  purposed 
to  visit.  After  his  experience  with  the  professor, 
he  realized  that  it  would  do  him  no  good  to  discuss 
his  difficulties  with  merely  technical  scholars.  For 
it  was  his  conscience,  not  his  mind,  that  needed 
guidance.  His  problem  was:  Can  I  honorably 
remain  a  priest  or  even  a  Catholic?  To  this  ques 
tion  erudition  could  give  little  or  nothing  by  way 
of  answer.  No  man,  he  reflected,  could  assist  him 
in  answering  it  save  one  who  had  passed  through 
a  crisis  like  his  own.  Such  a  man  he  had  some 
hope  of  finding  if  the  rumors  concerning  the  priest 
he  was  now  to  see  were  true.  For  report  had 
lately  been  current  among  the  priests  of  that  vicin 
ity  that  this  particular  member  of  their  body  "  had 
lost  his  faith ;  "  "  had  become  a  follower  of  Loisy 
and  Harnack ;  "  and  "  had  been  writing  anony 
mous  articles  severely  criticising  the  Church." 
Ambrose  made  inquiries  respecting  this  delinquent, 
and  discovered  that  he  was  pastor  of  a  small  coun 
try  congregation,  a  model  priest,  a  profound  stu 
dent,  and  possessor  of  a  library  of  extraordinary 
value.  At  least  there  was  a  chance  that  this  man 
was  in  a  position  to  understand  and  assist  him, 
and  he  determined  to  avail  himself  of  it. 

Not  unlike  Axton  was  the  village  committed  to 
the  care  of  this  mysterious  priest-scholar;  and 
220 


THE  PRIEST  221 

Ambrose  wondered  as  he  walked  toward  the  par 
sonage  if  here,  too,  a  crisis  had  come  to  pass  like 
thab  which  had  cast  its  shadow  on  the  parish  priest 
of  Axton. 

The  servant  led  him  into  the  library  and  said 
that  Father  Fleming  was  engaged  with  a  caller 
in  the  parlor,  but  would  be  free  in  a  few  minutes. 

Ambrose  looked  about  him  upon  a  very  world 
of  books.  Not  only  were  there  closely  packed 
shelves  from  floor  to  ceiling,  but  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor  and  running  the  entire  length  of  the  room 
were  two  book-stacks  of  nearly  a  man's  height, 
filled  to  the  last  inch.  Eagerly  Ambrose  scanned 
the  titles  of  shelf  after  shelf,  to  discover  what  man 
ner  of  thinking  and  what  fashion  of  man  the  roof 
of  this  sequestered  rectory  was  sheltering.  Orien 
tal  philology  was  represented  by  hundreds  of 
volumes,  with  Assyrian  and  Old  Persian  predomi 
nating.  This  evidently  was  the  chosen  field  of  the 
pastor's  researches.  How  odd  that  such  studies 
should  be  carried  on  in  a  country  parish!  won 
dered  Ambrose,  holding  in  his  hand  a  splendid 
edition  of  the  Avesta  in  the  original.  Then  there 
were  the  works  of  the  biblical  critics  of  Germany  — 
a  collection  twice  as  large  as  Danforth's ;  the  his 
tory  of  religion  and  doctrines  next,  a  mass  of 
volumes  second  only  to  those  on  Eastern  lan 
guages.  "  Not  much  on  philosophy,"  Ambrose 
was  reflecting,  when  the  door  opened  and  Father 
Fleming  entered. 

"  My  name  is  Hanlon,"  said  Ambrose,  holding 
out  his  hand. 


222  THE  PRIEST 

"  Fleming  is  mine,"  was  the  response,  accom 
panied  with  a  cordial  grasp  of  the  visitor's  hand 
and  an  invitation  that  he  sit  down  and  have  a 
cigar. 

Ambrose  declined  the  cigar,  not  being  a  smoker ; 
and  asked  if  Father  Fleming  could  give  him  a  few 
minutes  of  his  time. 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  hearty  answer.  "  I'll 
light  up,  and  then  be  at  your  service.  I  always 
enjoy  both  work  and  recreation  better  under  the 
inspiration  of  the  divine  weed,  tobacco.  Had 
cigars  only  been  known  in  classical  times,  I  dare 
say  the  priestess  of  Apollo  would  have  uttered 
her  oracles  in  clouds  like  these,  instead  of  amid  the 
smoke  of  incense."  Whereat  Father  Fleming 
smiled  and  puffed  in  great  content. 

He  was  still  young,  this  pastor  who  cultivated 
Babylonian  and  Zend,  hardly  forty,  Ambrose 
thought,  with  a  sturdy  frame,  a  splendid  head, 
very  keen  and  searching  eyes,  and  a  mouth  that 
was  well  accustomed,  one  would  fancy,  to  a  smile 
of  mingled  amusement  and  pity  at  the  follies  of 
mankind. 

As  Ambrose  narrated  his  recent  intellectual  and 
spiritual  experiences,  Father  Fleming's  face  grew 
grave,  and  his  head  bent  forward  in  an  attitude 
of  deep  attention  and  deeper  meditation.  Am 
brose  concluded  with  mentioning  his  fruitless  visit 
to  the  professor. 

"  Too  bad  you  went  to  him,"  said  Fleming,  with 
a  gesture  of  impatience.  "  He  is  a  baby  intellect- 


THE  PRIEST  283 

ually.     He  knows  more  or  less  of  criticism,  and 
I  suppose  could  discourse  learnedly  of  texts  and     / 
versions;  but  of  the  wider  movements  of  thought,  J\ 
of  the  new  orientation  of  the  religious  conscious 
ness,  he  knows  nothing  at  all." 

Father  Fleming  laid  aside  his  cigar,  which  had 
gone  out,  folded  his  hands  and  turning  a  look 
of  great  sympathy  upon  his  guest,  continued: 

"  Let  me  say,  my  dear  Father  Hanlon,  that  I 
sympathize  with  your  perplexities  and  sorrows, 
but  congratulate  you  on  having  reached  vital  and 
vigorous  maturity  of  mind.  The  Creator  of  hu 
man  intelligence  wills  that  intelligence  should 
grow.  That  we  should  continue  forever  jabbering 
ancient  formulas,  forever  posturing  in  ancient 
ceremonies,  without  once  driving  intellect  beneath 
them  to  see  what  they  rest  on,  of  what  value  they 
are,  and  how  they  fit  in  with  intellectual  and  ethi-  X 
cal  development,  is  not  only  the  death  but  the 
rotting  of  mind.  It  is  a  crime ;  and  the  education 
that  bids  us  submit  to  this  putrefaction  of  our 
God-given  capacities,  is  high  treason  against  God. 
When  I  cease  to  examine  intellectually  what  is 
given  me  to  accept  intellectually;  when  I  mumble 
with  my  lips  what  I  refuse  to  allow  my  mind  to 
bring  to  the  test  of  reasonableness  and  truth; 
when  I  stick  my  head  into  the  dust  of  the  middle 
age  and  of  the  patristic  age,  so  that  I  may  not 
open  my  eyes  to  the  modern  age ;  —  well  when  I 
consent  to  do  that,  I  shall  go  to  Patagonia  at  once, 
live  on  raw  fish,  and  make  a  good  job  of  frustrat 
ing  God  Almighty's  will  while  I  am  about  it. 


THE  PRIEST 

"  I  will  speak  frankly  to  you,  Father  Hanlon, 
for  I  like  you  and  trust  you.  First  of  all,  then, 
whatever  your  sorrows,  rejoice  that  you  are  using 
the  ten  talents  of  your  mind.  In  studying,  think 
ing,  examining,  you  are  doing  God's  will.  Believe 
that;  take  comfort  in  that;  for  it  is  no  small  con 
solation  to  have  God  on  our  side.  The  old  Zoro- 
astrian  faith  which  I  have  studied  a  good  deal,  and 
profoundly  venerate,  conceived  the  world  and  life 
as  a  field  of  battle,  whereon  the  God  of  good  things 
and  the  god  of  evil  things  fought  it  out.  The 
good  God's  warriors  were  good  men,  wise  men, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  do  battle  with  ignorance  and 
darkness,  and  to  spread  light,  knowledge,  courage 
and  love.  A  stagnant  life,  a  life  content  with  the 
good  that  was,  and  destitute  of  self-sacrificing  en 
thusiasm  for  the  greater  good  to  come,  was  im 
possible  to  the  faithful  disciple  of  Zoroaster  and 
Ahura  Mazda. 

"  The  old  Persian  saint  and  prophet  was  right. 
Stagnation  is  the  chief  of  sins ;  to  let  intellect  die 
while  the  forthcoming  kingdom  is  crying  for  its 
help,  is  the  most  awful  and  unnatural  of  suicides. 
Here  is  the  growing  life  of  this  universe  which  is 
somehow  one  with  the  life  of  God,  swinging  on 
ward,  away  from  darkness  toward  the  light,  away 
from  ignorance  toward  Truth,  away  from  the  past 
to  a  more  splendid  future.  How  monstrous  that 
any  man  should  seek  to  stay  the  processes  of  this 
divine  development !  And  a  man  does  seek  to  stay 
them,  and  in  his  measure  succeeds,  who  will  not 


THE  PRIEST  225 

use  his  highest  gift  of  mind ;  who  looks  not  to  the 
dawn  ahead,  but  to  the  midnight  behind ;  who  bur 
rows  in  ancient  caves  because  his  ancestors  were 
cave-dwellers,  and  snarls  angrily  at  the  men  of 
finer  and  braver  spirit  who  are  ascending  to  the 
uplands  at  the  call  of  God. 

"  You  are  not  alone,  Father  Hanlon,  in  your 
sometimes  sorrowful  search  for  Truth.  The  saints 
and  heroes  of  humanity  are  with  you ;  the  irresis 
tible  life  of  this  universe  is  with  you;  the  onward- 
leading  Infinite  is  with  you  and  within  you. 

"  As  to  your  intellectual  positions  I  will  say 
nothing.  They  are  substantially  my  own.  Now 
to  the  crux  of  your  trouble.  Can  you  honorably 
remain  a  Catholic  and  a  priest?  That  question 
is  for  your  conscience  alone;  the  answer  to  it  can 
be  delegated  to  no  other.  I  can  only  tell  you  what 
I  think  about  the  problem.  What  I  think  may 
mean  nothing  to  you ;  but  I  take  it  that  you  wish 
me  to  state  my  position,  so  that  your  own  con 
science  may  have  additional  data  on  which  to  base 
its  final  judgment.  My  position  is  this:  The 
processes  of  the  diviner  life  of  developing  humanity 
must  be  assisted  by  such  means  as  our  imperfect 
world  can  furnish.  These  processes  are  not 
abrupt.  They  develop  normally  and  ordinarily 
by  growth,  seldom  by  revolution.  As  a  priest  of 
the  church  I  can  help  this  forward  movement  by 
using  my  office  and  all  the  prestige  of  a  venerable 
religious  system  to  inculcate  the  virtues  of  noble 
character.  I  am  forever  preaching  conscience, 


lay 
ish  ^/ 

m-  A 

ase  ' 


226  THE  PRIEST 

love  of  truth,  justice,  benevolence,  the  spirit  of 
service,  responsibility,  manliness  and  character.  If 
I  speak  of  dogmas  whose  present  formulation  I  can 
not  accept,  I  say  nothing  of  the  philosophical 
terminology  of  them,  and  insist  only  on  their  value 
as  means  of  putting  us  into  the  mood  of  kinship 
with  spiritual  realities  and  God.  I  feel  that  I  am 
thus  living  not  in  vain,  and  that  I  am  employing 
such  instrumentalities  as  are  within  my  reach  for 
teaching  the  religion  of  the  spirit ;  and  so  long  as 
I  can  continue  to  do  this  I  see  no  imperative  reason 
why  I  should  abandon  an  opportunity  for  greater 
usefulness  than  I  could  find  elsewhere. 

"  I  have  had  one  or  two  of  my  parishioners  come 
to  me  to  say  that  if  they  followed  reason  and  con 
science  they  must  leave  the  Catholic  Church.  I 
have  simply  told  them  to  study  and  pray,  and  do 
what  they  believed  God  wanted  them  to  do.  Again, 
from  time  to  time  a  few  of  my  boys  have  desired 
to  become  priests.  I  have  discouraged  them  as 
strongly  as  I  could,  and  I  have  saved  some  of  them 
from  a  life  which  it  is  more  than  probable  they 
should  have  found  a  misery  and  a  crucifixion. 

"  In  conclusion,  Father  Hanlon,  let  me  say  that 
if  circumstances  should  arise,  and  " —  here  a  cyni 
cal  smile  came  upon  Father  Fleming's  face  — "  cer 
tain  gentlemen  seemed  bound  on  making  them  arise, 
which  would  threaten  the  integrity  of  my  char 
acter,  or  menace  the  development  and  peace  of 
my  soul,  I  would  resist  them  even  to  leaving  the 
Church.  But  if,  while  still  independent  and  free, 


THE  PRIEST  327 

I  can  help  the  good  to  become  better,  the  bad  to 
become  good,  the  sorrowful  to  find  consolation, 
I  will  do  so  in  my  present  office,  believing  that  I 
am  thus  contributing  my  mite  toward  that  coming 
kingdom  wherein  men  will  be  able  to  distinguish 
between  the  vulgar  disputes  of  theology  and  the 
eternal  verities  of  religion." 

A  few  more  questions  and  answers,  a  little  fur 
ther  discussion  of  details,  and  the  interview  was 
over. 

As  Father  Hanlon  walked  toward  the  village 
station,  there  was  less  dejection  in  his  manner;  and 
one  would  say  from  observing  his  face  that  his 
mind  was  quiet  and  his  spirit  free  from  at  least 
any  grievous  agitation. 


XXVI 

The  early  dusk  of  a  winter  evening  was  settling 
over  Alton  as  Father  Hanlon  stepped  from  the 
train,  home  again  from  his  quest  for  light.  The 
comforting  thought  of  home  made  quiet  music  in 
his  heart  as  he  approached  the  hotel ;  and  his  glad 
content  was  deepened  at  Nahum  Cuttle's  affection 
ate  greeting. 

"  Lots  o*  folks  been  askin'  for  ye,  Father  Han- 
Ion,"  said  Nahum.  **  Someone  started  the  report 
that  you  had  been  taken  away  from  Alton  for 
good  and  all;  and  my!  but  the  people  of  this  vil 
lage  were  sorry.  Some  o'  your  own  church  mem 
bers  came  mquirin',  but  still  more  who  ain't  in  your 
membership  at  alL  An'  they  all  declared  it  would 
be  a  shame  to  have  you  leave  here.  You've  got 
friends  here,  and  if  ever  you  need  'em  they'll  prove 
ft,  too." 

Some  little  assurance  that  he  would  not  leave, 
that  he  would  remain  in  this  kindly  neighborhood 
of  friends,  and  that  he  would  be  happy  among 
them,  found  itself  ensconced  in  the  young  priest's 
heart  as  he  went  upstairs  to  his  room,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  many  weary  weeks  the  strain  of  a  song 
was  on  his  lips. 

As  he  opened  his  door  he  saw  a  note  that  had 
been  pushed  under  it,  lying  on  the  floor.  Opening 
the  paper  the  following  words  met  his  eye : 

Dear  Father, — 

Please  come  to  see  me  at  once  when  yon  return. 

MARY  KILKT. 


THE  PRIEST  229 

Not  much  alarmed  about  Mary's  condition, 
for  she  would  hardly  have  written  had  her  illness 
become  notably  worse,  but  considerably  puzzled 
by  the  novelty  and  urgency  of  the  request,  Am 
brose  at  once  set  out  for  the  Kiley  cottage.  "  It's 
Father  Hanlon,  dear,"  be  heard  Matt  say  as  he 
approached  the  door.  A  moment  later  his  honest 
sexton's  two  rough  hands  were  grasping  his  slen 
der  one,  and  in  a  cheery  voice  he  said : 

"  Well,  Matt,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  and  de 
lighted  to  set  foot  in  this  house  once  more." 

Matt,  still  holding  his  pastor's  hands,  only 
looked  at  him  with  tears  streaming  from  his 
eves. 

"Matt,"  cried  the  priest,  his  own  face  becom 
ing  ashen;  "what  is  the  matter?  Has  anything 
happened?" 

"Come,  Father,"  was  all  that  Matt  could  say, 
leading  him  toward  Mary's  room.  An  agony  of 
sorrow  fell  upon  the  young  priest's  heart  as  he  fol 
lowed.  Was  it  true  then  that  his  little  saint  had 
given,  or  was  about  to  give,  her  white  spirit  back 
to  God? 

They  entered  the  room.  Mary  was  in  a  hos 
pital  chair  with  a  blanket  about  her.  "  Father," 
she  said,  with  her  infinitely  sweet  smile,  "  stand  just 
there;  don't  come  any  further."  Then  her  thin, 
almost  snow-white  hands  threw  back  the  folds  of 
the  blanket,  she  grasped  the  arms  of  the  chair  as 
though  to  steady  herself,  stood  up,  and  walked  to 
the  priest,  her  hands  extended  to  greet  him. 


230  THE  PRIEST 

"  Mary,"  cried  Father  Hanlon,  not  only  taking 
her  hands,  but  holding  her  for  a  moment  to  his 
breast ;  "  you  are  cured !  " 

"  Yes,  Father,"  said  Mary,  "  miraculously 
cured !  " 

Her  father  and  Ambrose,  who  was  in  a  tumult 
of  wonder,  gratitude,  and  awe,  led  her  back  to  the 
chair,  tenderly  replaced  the  blanket  about  her,  and 
she  began  her  wonderful  story. 

"  For  some  time  past,"  she  said,  "  a  strange  con 
viction  that  I  should  get  well  had  taken  hold  of  me. 
It  grew  deeper  and  stronger  every  day  until  it 
became  an  irresistible  certainty.  I  knew  I  should 
be  cured.  I  felt  that  God's  will  was  being  dis 
closed  to  me.  I  seemed  to  be  drawing  on  the  re 
sources  of  infinite  strength,  of  God's  own  infinite 
life.  My  heart  beat  quicker  at  the  thought  and  I 
imagined  that  perfect,  perfect  health  was  surging 
through  my  body.  I  used  to  try  if  those  poor 
paralyzed  nerves  and  muscles  would  respond  to 
my  will,  but  they  did  not  for  a  long  time.  The 
very  day  after  you  left  Axton,  *  Cured ! '  l  Cured ! ' 
'  Cured ! '  kept  ringing  in  my  ears.  I  tried  harder 
to  direct  the  current  of  the  vitality  I  felt  pouring 
into  me,  into  the  nerves  that  were  lifeless.  I  felt 
wonderfully,  awfully  near  to  God,  and  in  a  kind 
of  ecstasy  of  confidence,  I  sat  up  in  bed,  I  stood 
upon  the  floor,  and  God's  merciful  miracle  was 
accomplished." 

Matt  cried  softly  as  his  child  was  speaking. 
Father  Hanlon,  whose  own  eyes  were  not  dry,  took 


THE  PRIEST  231 

her  hand  when  she  had  finished,  and  out  of  the 
depths  of  his  heart  uttered  a  prayer  of  thanksgiv 
ing.  His  concluding  words  were :  "  Father,  the 
healing  of  broken  hearts  is  also  with  thee  and 
thee  alone.  We  beseech  thee  that  in  this  hour 
while  we  rejoice  that  thou  hast  given  back  to  us 
who  love  her,  thy  child  whole  and  restored,  thou 
wilt  visit  some  desolate  and  downcast  spirit,  and 
heal  it  with  thy  own  secret,  wonderful  and  abound 
ing  consolation." 

"  Father,"  cried  Matt,  now  sobbing  uncon 
trollably  ;  "  those  last  words  are  for  me  and  for  my 
poor,  broken  heart.  God  help  me !  " 

"  Why,  Matt,"  said  Father  Hanlon ;  "  how  can 
your  heart  be  broken  in  this  blessed  hour  except  it 
is  joy  that  breaks  it?  What  in  the  world  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  Father  Hanlon,"  said  Mary,  in  a  low  and 
shaken  voice ;  "  I  will  tell  you  what  my  father 
means.  The  life  that  God  has  given  back  is  His. 
It  were  robbery  and  sacrilege  to  spend  it  for  any 
earthly  purpose.  I  must  —  or  this  miracle  is 
meaningless,  and  will  turn  to  my  greater  condem 
nation  —  I  must  henceforth  be  God's  alone.  This 
also  was  in  my  thought  in  those  days  of  confidence 
preceding  my  cure;  and  I  promised  God  the  life 
that  He  was  about  to  restore.  The  doctor  says  / 
that  I  shall  have  regained  almost  perfect  strength  X 
by  mid-summer.  I  shall  stay  here  till  then.  But 
in  the  fall  I  will  enter  a  sisterhood,  and  spend  my 
life  in  a  hospital  for  incurables." 


232  THE  PRIEST 

A  long  silence  fell  upon  the  three  —  Mary  the 
snow-white  mystic;  Matt  in  the  agony  of  father- 
love  bereaved;  Ambrose  groping  toward  the  dark 
est  crisis  of  all.  The  clock  ticked  on  the  shelf,  and 
there  was  no  other  sound.  The  winter  darkness 
deepened,  and  the  stars  came  out  in  the  sky. 
Rarely  had  their  pure  rays  shone  upon  such  divini 
ties  of  faith,  sanctity,  and  sorrow,  as  were  to 
gether  in  that  room.  Seldom  had  God  led  to  a 
common  Calvary  by  ways  so  different,  three  of  His 
children  whose  hearts  were  bound  so  closely  to  one 
another  and  to  Him. 

To  Father  Hanlon,  walking  slowly  home  that 
night,  the  Church  of  his  ancestors,  his  youth,  his 
priesthood,  spoke  again  the  all  but  irresistible 
appeal  of  her  incomparable  sanctity  and  mysti 
cism.  Mother  of  heroes,  saints  and  virgins ;  fruit 
ful  parent  of  mighty  souls;  nurse  and  preceptress 
of  consecration  and  self-sacrifice ;  the  Church  of  an 
gelic  little  Mary,  and  of  many  thousand  other 
Marys  in  every  part  of  this  round  earth  —  she  rose 
before  the  vision  of  this  her  priest  who  had  spoken 
his  vows  at  her  altar,  and  was  now  wavering  on 
the  brink  of  apostasy,  and  demanded  that  he  be 
faithful  to  his  vow  and  depart  not  from  her,  for 
outside  her  he  could  find  no  beauty,  poetry,  divin 
ity,  such  as  had  crowned  her  with  centuries  of 
holiness,  and  assembled  about  her  the  unnumbered 
communion  of  her  saints.  Science?  What  amount 
of  science  could  tell  him  so  much  of  God  as  he  had 
just  seen  in  that  lowly  cottage?  Truth?  Ah! 


THE  PRIEST  233 

had  not  Mary  Kiley  beheld  essential,  spiritual, 
infinite  Truth  in  a  manner  and  to  a  degree  impos 
sible  to  all  the  academies  and  criticisms  in  the 
world?  Let  him  go  back  to  his  early  pieties.  Let 
him  abandon  the  scholars  to  learn  the  deeper  lore 
of  the  saints.  Let  him  again  spend  hours  as  he  / 
was  wont  to  do,  kneeling  in  mysterious  raptures  V 
before  the  crucifix  and  the  altar.  Let  him  forego 
the  aridities  and  the  perils  of  vain  scholarship, 
and  reascend  the  mount  of  tranquil  prayer,  where 
his  soul  would  enjoy  the  saint's  vision  and  share 
the  mystic's  peace.  N 

The  old  conflict!  would  it  never  end?  Were  his 
heart  that  was  for  flinging  itself  into  the  arms  of  ^ 
Mother-Church,  and  his  mind  that  persisted  in 
straying  away  from  her,  never  to  be  reconciled? 
To-night  his  heart  in  the  glow  of  its  recent  ex 
perience,  had  the  upper  hand.  "  Perhaps  to-mor 
row,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  something  will  happen 
to  exasperate  my  intellect  as  much  as  to-night  my 
soul  has  been  uplifted." 

There  was  prophecy  in  the  reflection.     On  the 
morrow  something   did  happen,  which,  following 
immediately  upon  his  exalted  experiences  of  the 
night    before,    startlingly    illustrated    to    Father 
Hanlon,  that  contrast  of  sublimity  and  puerility      v/ 
which  is  forever  presenting  itself  to  the  student  of      ^ 
Catholicism.     Before  narrating  the  occurrence,  a 
word  of  explanation  is  necessary.     Bishop  Shyrne 
owned  a  large  vineyard,  which  enabled  him  not 
only   to   furnish   the  priests   of  his   diocese  with 


234  THE  PRIEST 

altar-wine  for  the  celebration  of  mass,  but  also 
to  sell  a  goodly  portion  of  the  product  in  the  form 
of  table-wine.  As,  according  to  theology,  the  wine 
used  at  the  altar  must  be  the  unadulterated  juice 
of  the  grape;  and  as,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
bishop's  table-wine  was  treated  with  divers  admix 
tures,  great  care  was  taken  to  keep  the  shipments 
separate.  Some  confusion,  however,  in  this  mat 
ter,  led  to  the  writing  of  the  following  letter  by 
the  priest  who  had  the  superintendence  of  the  vine 
yard.  As  we  have  intimated,  Ambrose  received  the 
letter  the  day  after  his  memorable  visit  to  Mary. 

Dear  Father  Hanlon, — 

Ten  days  ago  we  shipped  you,  according  to  your 
order,  three  dozen  bottles  of  wine  to  be  used  in  the 
celebration  of  mass.  To  my  great  regret  I  have  just 
discovered  that  the  wine  sent  you  was,  by  the  mis 
take  of  our  foreman,  not  altar-wine,  but  table-wine. 
Now  while  this  latter  is  undoubtedly  good  wine,  it  is 
with  us  as  with  all  dealers,  so  treated  as  to  make  it 
one  or  two  per  cent,  less  pure  than  altar-wine  must 
be,  according  to  theology.  It  is  probable  therefore, 
that  our  table-wine  is  not  fit  matter  for  consecration; 
and  that  consequently  it  would  not  be  changed  into 
the  Precious  Blood  of  our  Lord  in  the  mass.  If  so, 
of  course  there  is  no  proper  sacrifice  of  the  mass 
when  such  wine  is  used. 

I  am  very  sorry  for  this  humiliating  and  most  seri 
ous  mistake.  It  is  the  first  time  it  has  happened,  and 
it  will  be  the  last.  I  am  sending  you  today  three 
dozen  bottles  of  genuine  altar-wine,  and  you  may  re 
turn  the  other  if  you  choose. 


THE  PRIEST  235 

I  hardly  need  to  suggest  that  the  masses  you  may 
have  said  with  the  table-wine  must  be  repeated  in 
order  to  satisfy  the  intentions  for  which  they  were 
offered. 

Sincerely  yours, 

REV.  F.  BRINKHOFFER. 

Ambrose's  premonition  was  correct.  His  mind 
was  shocked  as  profoundly  as  last  night  his  heart  , 
had  been  inspired.  What  disgusting  casuistry !  X 
What  a  riot  of  superstition !  Because  one  wine  was 
one  or  two  per  cent,  less  purely  the  juice  of  the 
grape  than  the  other,  therefore  the  latter  could  be 
changed  into  the  blood  of  Christ,  and  the  former 
could  not!  The  supposed  infinite  Sacrifice  of  the 
Mass,  that  colossal  drama  in  which  the  whole  proc 
ess  of  Christ's  redemption  of  humanity  is  really 
repeated,  depends  on  this  contemptible  detail ! 
And  the  large-hearted  Prophet  of  Galilee,  who  de 
spised  casuistry,  and  scored  with  the  burning  words 
of  His  wrath  the  casuists  of  His  day  —  did  He  at 
that  Last  Supper,  when  He  instituted  this  com 
munion-meal  of  His  disciples,  have  in  mind  the 
gross,  barbaric  materialism  of  this  pagan  theol 
ogy?  Ambrose  flung  the  letter  into  the  grate  and 
paced  the  floor  in  anger.  Heart  was  silent  now 
and  mind  had  the  upper  hand. 


XXVII 

On  the  Sunday  before  election-day  the  trustees 
of  First  Church  held  their  regular  meeting. 
Squire  Wakefield  was  present,  with  implacable 
resolution  in  his  heart,  and  the  document  of  in 
dictment  against  minister  Danforth  in  his  hand. 
The  other  trustees,  warned  of  what  was  coming, 
looked  nervous  and  uncomfortable.  They  were 
unwilling  to  depose  Mr.  Danforth ;  yet  they  feared 
Amos  Wakefield,  and  dreaded  permanent  dissen 
sion  in  the  parish.  Dissension  there  would  be 
none,  if  only  the  Squire  would  keep  quiet.  But 
to  keep  quiet,  despite  the  appeals  of  several  of  the 
influential  men  of  the  congregation,  he  absolutely 
and  angrily  refused.  In  his  heart  at  least,  what 
ever  might  be  the  case  with  others,  lingered  no 
moving  memories  of  Danforth's  sermon  of  that 
very  morning  on  the  brotherhood  of  man.  On 
Danforth's  downfall  he  was  determined,  and  he 
had  come  to  this  meeting  to  accomplish  it. 

The  Squire  began  his  speech  against  his  pastor 
with  stating  the  reasons  which  gave  him  authority 
to  speak  on  matters  affecting  a  Unitarian  congre 
gation.  He  was  of  Puritan  stock,  and  had  in 
herited  through  ten  generations  the  faith  of  the 
Pilgrims,  of  which  Unitarianism  was  the  normal 
evolution.  He  ventured  to  say  that  no  man  in 
Axton  had  been  more  faithful  to  the  parish  church 
than  he.  He  begged  the  pardon  of  the  trustees 

for  referring  to  the  fact,  not  as  a  boast  but  as 
2S6 


THE  PRIEST  387 

testimony  to  the  loyalty  of  his  church-member 
ship,  that  for  years  he  had  contributed  one-fourth 
of  the  entire  income  of  First  Church.  He  pro 
tested  that  it  was  for  no  personal  reason,  but  for 
the  good  of  religion  that  he  was  engaged  in  this 
present  painful  enterprise;  and  besought  his  fel 
low-trustees  to  consider  with  similar  high-minded- 
ness  the  undeniable  facts  that  he  was  about  to  lay 
before  them. 

Then  came  the  detailed  charges  against  the 
minister. 

"  Finally  gentlemen,"  he  concluded,  "  you  can 
not  be  blind  to  this,  that  if  Mr.  Danforth  be  re 
tained,  a  dissension  will  be  created  in  the  parish 
which  will  wreck  it  utterly.  Dismiss  Mr.  Dan 
forth,  and  whatever  the  feeling  of  his  partisans  for 
the  day  and  hour,  we  shall  speedily  settle  down  to 
the  quiet  and  normal  life  of  an  orderly  Christian 
congregation.  What  man,  therefore,  can  question 
the  prudence  and  far-sightedness  of  requesting  Mr. 
Danforth  to  resign?  So  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
I  cannot  continue  to  be  a  member  of  a  parish 
which  approves  and  encourages  the  excesses  of 
a  good  but  unbalanced  man.  And  I  give  warning 
that  while  Josiah  Danforth  remains  minister  of 
First  Church,  I  must  cease  to  be  accounted  a  mem 
ber,  and  must  not  be  expected  to  contribute  an 
other  penny  to  its  support."  With  the  offering 
of  a  resolution  setting  forth  that  the  trustees  felt 
called  upon  to  request  the  pew-holders  of  the 
church  to  vote  on  the  retirement  of  Mr.  Danforth, 


238  THE  PRIEST 

and  that  the  trustees  themselves  recommended  this 
retirement,  Squire  Wakefield  was  through. 

Among  the  eleven  trustees  Mr.  Danforth  was 
not  without  friends;  and  two  forceful  and  earnest 
speeches  were  made  in  his  favor.  But  the  dread 
of  a  schism,  coupled  with  one  cannot  say  how 
much  fear  of  the  Squire  and  apprehension  at  the 
v/  loss  of  his  contribution,  carried  the  day,  and  the 
Wakefield  resolution  was  adopted  by  a  vote  of  six 
to  five. 

On  the  following  evening,  which  was  the  day 
before  the  town  election,  Mr.  Danforth  sent  word 
to  Father  Hanlon  to  beg  the  favor  of  an  immediate 
visit.  The  priest,  since  his  return,  had  not  been 
able  to  see  his  friend  to  offer  his  sorrowful  sym 
pathy  on  the  late  troubles  at  the  settlement-house, 
and  on  the  destruction  of  the  building  which  had 
enshrined  so  many  of  the  cherished  hopes,  and  so 
much  of  the  apostolic  zeal  of  Josiah  Danforth. 
Of  the  action  of  the  trustees  the  day  before,  Han 
lon  had  not  heard. 

Entering  the  minister's  study,  Ambrose  was 
affectionately  greeted,  and  still  holding  Danforth's 
hand,  he  expressed  his  fraternal  condolence  for  the 
misfortunes  that  had  lately  befallen. 

"  You  have  heard  of  the  action  of  my  trustees  ?  " 
Danforth  asked. 

Father  Hanlon  had  not  heard,  and  Mr.  Dan 
forth  straightway  informed  him. 

"  Jo,"  said  Ambrose  tenderly,  "  you  are  not  go 
ing  to  leave  Axton ;  you  are  not  going  to  leave  your 


THE  PRIEST  289 

friends,  of  whom  none  is  more  devoted  to  you  than 
I,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ambrose,"  was  the  answer ;  "  I  am  going 
to  leave.  Not  that  I  fear  fighting  out  this  matter 
with  Amos  Wakefield;  far  from  it.  But  my  re 
maining  here,  on  the  supposition  that  I  should  be 
sustained  by  the  majority  of  the  congregation, 
would  involve  bad  feeling  and  dissension,  two  mis 
fortunes  which,  as  a  Christian  minister,  it  is  my 
duty  to  avert.  Next  Sunday  I  preach  my  farewell 
sermon." 

"  This  is  a  crime,"  protested  Ambrose. 

"  If  so,"  said  Mr.  Danforth,  smiling  gravely ; 
"  it  is  an  ancient  one.     Hierarchies,  and  the  equiva-       / 
lents  thereof  in  our  non-Catholic  churches,  demand     /> 
tradition   with   all   its   respectability,    conformity 
with  all  its  regularity.     The  innovator  who  dis 
turbs  the  old,  or  the  dreamer  who  works  for  his 
vision  of  the  new,  is  a  vexatious  fanatic  who  must 
be  silenced.     Time  was  when  he  was  crucified." 

"  Ambrose,"  resumed  the  minister  after  a  pause ; 
"  I  sent  for  you  to-night  because  I  felt  a  bit  lonely 
and  discouraged.     Not,  I  think,  because  of  what 
has  happened  to   me,  but   for  a  deeper   reason. 
Does  the  horrible  temptation  ever  assail  you,  to    ^ 
despair  of  the  perfectibility  of  human  nature  and  f\ 
of  the  consequent  usefulness  of  our  vocation?" 

"  In  just  that  form  I  have  not  felt  the  tempta 
tion,"  Ambrose  responded.  "  All  history  tells  me 
that  humanity  has  grown  better,  and  gives  me 
assurance  that  the  progress  will  continue.  But 


240  THE  PRIEST 

what  does  crush  me  in  my  darker  hours  is  the 
agony  of  slowness  with  which  mankind  crawls 
upward,  and  the  immeasurable  time  it  will  require 
appreciably  to  reduce  the  overwhelming  accumula 
tion  of  wickedness  in  this  world." 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,"  replied  Danforth ;  "  you  have 
expressed  it  better  than  I  did.  It  is  the  weakness 
of  our  moral  appeal,  the  colossal  power  of  un 
righteousness,  and  the  tedious  grinding  of  the 
mills  of  God, —  it  is  this  that  hurts,  stuns  and 
prostrates  one.  Now,  recently  I  have  had  two  dis 
heartening  experiences  which  have  thrown  me  into 
desolation.  The  president  of  one  of  the  societies 
in  the  Conscience  and  Country  League,  a  man 
whom  I  regarded  as  having  the  highest  conception 
of  both  conscience  and  country,  has  just  been 
unmasked  as  a  profligate  and  embezzler.  And 
yesterday  two  of  the  trustees  who  voted  for  Squire 
Wakefield's  resolution  against  me,  acknowledged 
that  their  main  motive  was  dread  of  the  higher 
church-tax  which  should  fall  on  them  if  Wakefield 
stopped  his  contributions.  Yet  these  men  have 
sat  under  me  Sunday  after  Sunday  as  I  preached 
on  the  ideals  of  character  and  Christianity. 
'  What  is  the  use?  What  is  the  use?  '  the  tempter 
has  been  saying  to  me  all  day.  It  is  only  a  tem 
porary  obsession,  I  know,  but  it  has  made  me 
blue." 

"  The  crowd  shouted  *  Hosanna  '  on  Palm  Sun 
day  and  *  Crucify  Him '  five  days  later,"  remarked 
the  priest. 


THE  PRIEST 

"  Ah  yes,"  said  Danforth,  "  how  richly  are  we 
consoled  and  strengthened  by  looking  unto  Him, 
the  great  Prophet  of  the  broken  heart !  " 

"  The  prophet's  predestined  lot  is  a  broken 
heart,"  said  Father  Hanlon. 

"  It  is,"  affirmed  the  minister ;  "  yet  God  grant 
us  the  grace  to  be  His  prophets ! " 

"  Is  there  anything,"  exclaimed  Danforth  ar 
dently,  "  more  sublime  than  the  death  of  a  man 
who  dies  for  an  apparently  impossible  ideal? 
Look  at  Christ!  What  egregious  folly  the  re 
spectability  of  His  day  conceived  Him  to  be  com 
mitting  !  He  had  youth,  graciousness,  every  high 
gift  of  mind  and  heart.  How  respectable  He 
could  have  been!  Yet  He  fixed  His  gaze  on  a 
vision  that  to  the  crowd  and  to  the  world  was 
madness.  He  looked  not  at  the  opportunities  that 
lay  at  His  feet,  but  at  the  distant  kingdom  of 
spiritual  freedom,  of  human  brotherhood,  of  God's 
benign  sovereignty  over  a  regenerated  world. 
How  fanatical!  Steadfastly  He  kept  His  eyes 
on  that  divine,  far-off  ideal ;  and  to  the  scandal  of 
common  clay,  He  died  for  it.  Ambrose,  let  our 
trials  and  temptations  be  what  they  will,  we  will 
live  for  the  folly  of  that  same  ideal,  and  if  God  so 
favors  us,  will,  in  some  sense,  die  for  it." 

A  bell  tinkled  in  the  room.  Danforth  rose  and 
said :  "  Come,  dear  Ambrose,  it  is  mothers  call. 
Join  us  at  prayer.  It  may  be  our  last  night  to 
gether." 

Mrs.    Danforth    and    Dorothy    were    awaiting 


242  THE  PRIEST 

them;  and  as  they  knelt  down  Father  Hanlon's 
heart  was  heavy  with  those  words  in  his  ears : 
"  It  may  be  our  last  night  together." 

"  Yea,  the  hour  cometh,"  sounded  the  sweet 
voice  of  the  Quaker  matron,  "  that  whosoever 
killeth  you  shall  think  that  he  offereth  service 
unto  God." 

Not  without  sorrow,  whatever  its  higher  con 
solations,  was  the  half-hour  of  meditations  that 
followed.  If  the  light  of  a  "far-off  Ideal" 
shone  upon  the  souls  of  the  little  group,  the  shadow 
of  approaching  separation  lay  upon  their  human 
hearts;  and  human  hearts  can  suffer,  though  the 
spirit  be  at  peace. 

Mr.  Danforth  concluded  the  exercise  with  read 
ing  :  "  This  is  my  commandment  that  ye  love  one 
another  even  as  I  have  loved  you.  Greater  love 
hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his 
life  for  his  friends." 

Good-nights  were  soon  said,  and  Ambrose  and 
Dorothy  left  the  house  together.  The  priest  had 
never  accompanied  the  girl  to  her  home,  with  the 
exception  of  the  night  that  Pasquale  Ciasca  had 
annoyed  her.  But  to-night  without  a  request  on 
his  part  or  invitation  on  hers,  it  seemed  natural 
even  inevitable,  to  both  that  he  should  take  his 
place  by  her  side;  and  thus  together  they  entered 
the  narrow,  unlighted  road  that  led  to  Squire 
Wakefield's  residence. 

"  Father  Hanlon,"  said  Dorothy ;  "  our  hearts 
and  our  village  are  to  be  visited  with  calamity." 


THE  PRIEST  243 

"What  shall  we  do  without  him?"  spoke  the 
priest,  more  to  himself  than  to  her. 

"  We  shall  suffer  cruelly,  for  he  is  become  part 
of  us,"  the  girl  responded.  "  But  greater  than 
our  personal  pain  will  be  the  misfortune  of  the  sep 
aration  of  you  and  Mr.  Danforth.  That  you  or 
I  should  lose  the  presence  of  a  dear  friend,  is  a 
small  matter  in  comparison  with  what  a  great 
Cause  will  suffer  because  you  two  shall  co-operate 
no  more." 

"  I  confess  I  was  looking  only  at  the  personal 
side  of  it,"  said  Ambrose ;  "  what  cause  do  you 
mean,  Miss  Wakefield?" 

"  The  Cause  I  once  mentioned  to  you  early  in 
our  acquaintance,  after  your  course  of  sermons 
on  the  church.  By  the  way,  it  was  dreadfully 
bold  of  me  to  speak  to  you  as  I  did  that  day.  Did 
you  not  think  then  that  I  was  one  of  those 
brazen  women  who  are  a  humiliation  to  our  sex 
and  a  terror  to  yours  ?  " 

"  Not  for  an  instant,"  protested  Ambrose. 
"  Permit  me  to  say  that  no  one  could  even  look 
upon  the  countenance  of  Miss  Dorothy  Wakefield, 
and  have  any  such  idea." 

Did  she  draw  a  little  closer  to  him?  Perhaps 
so.  At  any  rate  his  heart  raced  a  bit  faster  for 
the  next  minute.  But  this  may  have  been  because 
he  was  unused  to  speaking  complimentary  words 
to  women ;  though  this  compliment  he  meant  and 
felt  sincerely. 

"  We    talked    that    day,"    resumed    Dorothy, 


244  THE  PRIEST 

"  about  the  inspiring  religion  that  is  to  come.  To 
that  religion  pure,  free,  spiritual,  mystical,  the 
Unitarian  faith  that  I  love,  has  priceless  elements 
to  contribute.  Your  ancient  church,  too,  has 
other  priceless  elements.  Prophets,  teachers,  and 
it  may  be  martyrs,  are  needed  to  combine  Unitar 
ian  freedom  and  simplicity,  with  Catholic  solidar 
ity  and  spiritual  richness.  This  is  the  Cause  I 
mean.  And  I  believe  that  the  beginning  of  the 
divine  work  could  hardly  be  committed  to  better 
hands  than  Josiah  Danforth's  and  yours.  Mr. 
Danforth  has  a  mystical,  shall  I  say  a  Catholic, 
soul.  You,  of  course,  possess  that,  too;  but,  if  I 
am  not  bold  in  saying  so,  you  have  come  to  realize 
that  you  have  a  Unitarian  mind.  How  rare  and 
magnificent  an  opportunity  for  you  to  work  to 
gether.  And  now  the  hope  is  shattered,  the  dream 
dissolved." 

They  came  to  Mr.  Wakefield's  gate,  but  passed 
it,  silent. 

"  I  suppose  you  realize,  Miss  Wakefield,"  Am 
brose  at  last  said  very  gravely ;  "  that  were  I  to 
take  part  in  such  a  project,  I  should  have  to  leave 
the  Catholic  Church." 

"  Father  Hanlon  " —  Dorothy's  hand  rested  on 
his  arm  for  a  moment  —  "  don't  say  that.  Is  it 
not  the  answer  of  opportunities  ?  If  the  Ideal,  the 
Cause,  appeals  to  you,  you  will  not  think  of  self, 
will  you?  " 

It  was  a  very  searching  question,  and  it  hurt 
him. 

"  Miss  Wakefield,"  he  answered  after  a  long 


THE  PRIEST  245 

pause ;  "  I  have  been  terribly  upset  of  late.  I 
must  gain  a  season  of  tranquillity  before  I  can 
determine  what  my  future  shall  be.  But  your 
Ideal  does  appeal  to  me,  to  all  that  is  best  within 
me.  I  have  told  you  this  before;  but  let  me  now 
add  the  prayer  that  Heaven  may  grant  me  the 
favor  of  working  for  this  great  Cause,  and  for  the 
hastening  of  its  day  of  triumph  on  earth." 

They  turned  and  walked  toward  her  house 
again. 

"  It  is  strange,"  remarked  Dorothy,  "  how  the 
lives  of  you  two  men  are  being  led  forward.  Mr. 
Danforth  has  been  too  Catholic/ and  therefore  a 
tyrannical  faction  seeks  to  destroy  him.  But  he 
will  not  be  destroyed.  Elsewhere,  if  not  here,  he 
will  do  his  great  work  undaunted.  He  holds  his 
personality  too  sacred  to  allow  brute  force  to 
annihilate  it.  You,  on  the  other  hand,  have  been  » 
too  Unitarian.  Hence,  a  tyrannical  hierarchy  , 
may  seek  to  destroy  you.  I  admire  you  too  much 
not  to  think  that  if  this  crisis  comes,  you  likewise 
will  esteem  your  life  and  talents  of  too  divine  a 
value  to  be  crushed  and  frustrated  by  despotism." 

They  were  standing  now  at  her  gate.  He  took 
her  hand  and  said :  "  Good  night,  Miss  Wakefield ; 
and  let  me  thank  you  for  this  inspiring  conver 
sation.  It  sheds  new  light  on  the  momentous 
debate  that  is  going  on  within  me." 

He  felt  a  long,  warm  pressure  of  her  hand. 
"  Good  night,  dear  friend,"  she  said ;  "  and  God 
direct  you ! " 


i* 


XXVIII 

Election  day  in  Axton,  after  the  most  exciting 
campaign  the  little  village  had  ever  known !  True 
there  had  been  no  public  meetings,  no  speeches 
from  the  hustings,  no  paradings  and  processions. 
But  intense  activity  of  a  far  more  practical  and 
substantial  character  there  had  been  to  an  almost 
metropolitan  degree.  The  managers  of  the  three 
candidates  had  made  so  thorough  a  canvass  that 
there  was  not  a  voter  in  the  village  who  had  not 
been  approached  by  at  least  one  petitioner,  and 
his  suffrage  pleaded  for  with  uncommon  ardor. 
Mr.  Wakefield's  lieutenants  held  up  before  the 
wavering  the  absolute  certainty  and  the  appalling 
calamity  of  Murdock's  election  if  every  "  decent  " 
man  in  Axton  did  not  support  the  Squire.  Young 
Richard's  henchmen  drilled  it  into  such  as  they 
could  get  to  listen,  that  it  was  high  time  Axton 
disposed  of  its  harsh  and  conceited  "  boss."  They 
pathetically  pictured  the  cruel  measures  of  the  old 
man  which  had  driven  Richard  from  home.  They 
maintained  that  it  was  reluctantly,  and  through 
no  desire  for  revenge,  but  solely  for  the  public 
good  that  the  son  had  entered  the  lists  against  the 
father.  And  finally  they  failed  not  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  Mr.  Danforth's  popularity  to  belabor 
vigorously  his  arch-enemy,  the  Squire.  As  for 
Murdock,  his  campaign  consisted  in  holding  his 
phalanx  intact,  and  in  bringing  all  possible  in 
fluence  to  bear  upon  the  workingmen  who  had  thus 

far  held  themselves   aloof   from  him.     Upon  the 
246 


THE  PRIEST  247 

village-folk  he  made  no  attempt  whatever.     Rich 
ard  was  to  take  care  of  that. 

When  the  polls  closed  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  nearly  the  entire  electorate  of  Axton 
had  cast  their  ballots.  Within  an  hour,  or  at  the 
farthest,  two  hours  from  the  closing  of  the  polls, 
it  was  expected  that  the  vote  would  be  counted  and 
the  result  made  known.  No  little  violence  of  feel 
ing  had  been  manifested  throughout  the  day,  re 
sulting,  in  one  or  two  instances,  in  personal  encoun 
ters  ;  and  as  the  time  drew  near  for  the  official 
announcement  of  the  contest,  the  town  was  quite 
given  over  to  excitement  and  anxiety.  Some  there 
were  who  openly  expressed  apprehension  that  if 
the  vote  should  be  very  close,  dark  deeds  might  be 
done  in  Axton  before  nightfall.  Others  scoffed  at 
the  idea ;  but  in  the  crowd  of  perhaps  four  hun 
dred  men  assembled  in  the  town  hall  to  await  the 
returns,  there  was  undeniably  a  strange,  subtle 
sense  of  uneasiness.  This  was  undoubtedly  due 
in  part  to  the  presence  of  a  full  hundred  and  fifty 
of  Murdock's  foreign  followers.  These  men  were 
massed  together  near  the  centre  of  the  hall,  jab 
bering  vehemently  in  strange  tongues.  Conspicu 
ous  in  their  party  was  Pasquale  Ciasca.  The 
Italian  moved  incessantly  from  one  to  another  of 
his  rough  associates,  his  eyes  flashing,  his  hands 
gesticulating,  and  his  tongue  most  miraculously 
active.  Many  a  frowning  look,  accompanied  with 
guttural  compliments,  he  turned  upon  the  Axton 
men,  and  many  a  cold  stare  of  stern  reprisal  he 
got  from  them.  Pasquale  would  bear  watching. 


248  THE  PRIEST 

The  ballots  were  counted  on  the  stage,  where 
the  tellers  sat  at  a  long  table  in  full  view  of  their 
expectant  townsmen.  The  two  selectmen,  not 
personally  concerned  in  the  fortunes  of  the  day, 
presided  over  the  process,  assisted  by  the  venerable 
town  clerk,  and  one  representative  of  each  of  the 
contestants.  Mr.  Perry  was  there  for  the  Squire ; 
Richard's  agent  was  one  of  the  trustees  who  had 
spoken  in  behalf  of  minister  Danforth  two  days 
before;  and  Murdock's  interests  were  looked  after 
by  a  clever  young  Italian  of  the  name  of  Gazzi, 
who  spoke  English  perfectly. 

Shortly  after  five  o'clock  Mr.  Danforth  and 
Father  Hanlon  entered  the  hall  together.  As  they 
pushed  their  way  through  the  crowd,  they  received 
and  returned  a  hundred  cordial  greetings.  "  The 
two  best  men  in  the  town,"  said  one  to  his  neigh 
bor.  "  What  a  cursed  shame  that  one  of  them  is 
being  turned  out ! "  was  the  answer.  "  Squire 
Wakefield's  day  will  come,"  replied  number  one; 
"  and  the  fools  who  aided  him  against  Mr.  Dan 
forth  will  soon  regret  their  cowardly  conduct." 

The  two  clergymen  passed  close  to  Pasquale 
Ciasca  who  scowled  at  them  ferociously  and  mut 
tered  an  ugly  imprecation.  Danforth  did  not  un 
derstand  him,  but  Hanlon  did,  and  the  blood 
rushed  to  his  face.  He  felt  like  having  it  out  with 
the  fellow  then  and  there.  "  Jo,"  he  said  to  his 
friend ;  "  that  fellow  Ciasca  will  be  a  menace  to 
this  town  until  he  gets  the  thrashing  of  his  life. 
Only  a  broken  head  will  teach  him  decency." 


THE  PRIEST  249 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  answered  the  minister,  "  that 
he  is  traveling  fast  toward  just  such  a  fate.  Some 
day  one  of  these  raw-boned  Yankees  will  sit  down 
hard  on  Mr.  Ciasca,  and  there  will  be  an  end  of 
his  pernicious  activity.  But  what's  the  trouble 
among  the  tellers  ?  " 

Trouble  indeed  there  seemed  to  be.  Gazzi  was 
pounding  the  table  with  his  fist,  and  uttering  ex 
postulations  which,  owing  to  the  noise  in  the  hall, 
Danforth  and  Hanlon  could  not  make  out.  The 
quarrel,  however,  soon  arrested  the  attention  of 
the  citizens,  and  in  the  ensuing  silence  every  word 
spoken  on  the  stage  was  heard  throughout  the 
room. 

"  Mr.  Gazzi,"  Mr.  Hale,  the  town  clerk,  was 
saying :  "  I  request  you,  sir,  to  be  quiet.  Do 
you  mean  to  incite  trouble  here  ?  " 

"  I  will  have  justice  for  my  candidate,"  Gazzi 
almost  screamed. 

"  At  your  desire,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Hale  quietly ; 
"  we  have  gone  over  the  figures  a  second  time,  and 
both  tallies  give  the  election  to  Amos  Wakefield 
by  four  votes  over  Murdock,  his  nearest  competi 
tor.  Now  you  demand  a  third  review  of  the 
figures.  I  think  you  are  unreasonable." 

The  stillness  in  the  hall  had  become  intense. 
Murdock's  ominious  phalanx  began  crushing  its 
way  toward  the  stage. 

Mr.  Mills,  the  senior  selectman  present,  rose 
from  his  chair  and  said  to  Gazzi :  "  The  people 
are  impatient  to  hear  the  official  announcement  of 
the  result.  I  will  make  this  announcement  with- 


250  THE  PRIEST 

out  delay.  If  Murdock  wishes  an  official  recount 
of  the  ballots,  that  legal  resource  is  in  his  hands." 

As  Mr.  Mills  picked  up  the  paper  on  which  the 
figures  were  tabulated,  and  was  about  to  make 
public  declaration  of  them,  Gazzi  leaped  to  the 
front  of  the  stage,  flung  up  his  arms  and  cried 
at  the  top  of  his  voice: 

"  Friends  of  Murdock,  they  are  cheating  us ! 
They  are  cheating  us  because  we  are  foreigners; 
because  we  are  workingmen !  Defend  your  rights ! 
Down  with  the  Yankee  capitalists ! " 

A  roar  of  wild  anger,  the  roar  of  a  mob  in 
wrath,  broke  from  Murdock's  men.  "  To  the 
stage !  "  yelled  Pasquale.  "  Kill  them !  " 

A  brawny  fist  shot  out  and  struck  Pasquale  full 
in  the  mouth.  In  an  instant  twenty  fists  were 
flying  into  as  many  faces. 

"  Kill!  "  shrieked  Pasquale. 

"  Stop  this,  men ! "  pealed  a  voice  of  mighty 
volume  from  the  stage. 

Before  the  mob  stood  Josiah  Danforth,  a  living 
embodiment  of  commanding  power.  "  Stop  this 
disgrace  to  Axton ! "  he  cried.  "  Stop  this  dis 
honor  to  the  flag  on  the  day  you  have  exercised 
your  citizenship !  "  At  the  words  he  tore  from  its 
hangings  back  of  the  table  where  the  tellers  had 
been  sitting,  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and  held  it 
aloft.  The  superb  voice  rang  out  again :  "  Your 
duty  to  your  country's  flag — " 

He  said  no  more.  Whirring  through  the  air 
toward  him  flew  a  black  object  which  left  a  thin 
trail  of  smoke.  A  terrific  explosion  seemed  to 


THE  PRIEST  251 

rock  the  building,  and  through  the  thick  clouds 
they  saw  the  minister  prostrate  on  the  stage,  the 
flag  fallen  across  his  breast.  Into  the  street 
rushed  the  men  from  the  mills,  Ciasca  in  the  front 
rank  grinning  hideously.  The  others  crowded  to 
the  stage.  Father  Hanlon  was  kneeling  beside  his 
friend,  binding  up  a  dreadful  wound  in  his  head, 
and  gazing  with  a  look  of  anguish  into  unrespond- 
ing  eyes. 

Late  that  night,  without  having  regained  con 
sciousness,  Josiah  Danforth  died.  At  his  bedside 
when  his  spirit  sought  its  larger  home,  were  his 
mother,  Dorothy  Wakefield,  and  Father  Hanlon. 
Grief  and  human  feeling  had  their  way  for  a  while ; 
and  then  the  three  knelt  down.  Mrs.  Danforth 
put  her  arm  about  Father  Hanlon's  neck. 
"  Brother  of  my  son,"  she  said ;  "  tell  the  Father- 
Spirit  what  I  would  say  to  Him  if  I  could. 
Thank  Him  for  me  for  such  a  boy ;  thank  Him  for 
my  darling's  holy  life.  Yea  " —  here  the  dear  old 
voice  sank  to  a  forced  whisper  — "  thank  Him 
for  his  death."  Ambrose  said  the  prayer;  and 
the  three  bowed  their  heads  upon  the  bed  where 
the  dead  prophet  lay.  "  Friend,"  said  the  deso 
late  mother  to  Ambrose,  as  he  was  leaving  the 
house,  "  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  thee  which  my 
boy  would  have  made  had  he  been  able.  The  peo 
ple  will  expect  to  hear  at  the  final  services  some 
word  that  will  bear  in  upon  them  the  lesson  of  his 
life.  Wilt  thou,  his  brother,  speak  that  word  ?  " 

"  If  my  sorrow  will  permit  me  to  speak  it,  I 
will,"  he  answered. 


XXIX 

During  the  time  just  preceding  Mr.  Danforth's 
funeral,  there  kept  intruding  into  the  brotherly 
grief  of  Ambrose  Hanlon  the  apprehension  of 
what  would  happen  when  the  bishop  discovered 
that  he  had  preached  the  eulogy  of  a  Unitarian 
minister.  When  he  gave  Mrs.  Danforth  his  prom 
ise  to  preach  he  was  so  overcome  by  the  sorrow 
of  the  death-chamber  that  the  magnitude  of  his 
temerity  did  not  appear  to  him.  But  as  in  later 
hours  he  reflected  on  the  situation,  he  was  startled 
to  see  into  the  grip  of  what  calamity  he  was  yield 
ing  himself.  Hardly  any  other  law  in  the  entire 
system  of  Catholic  precept  is  more  stringent  than 
the  prohibition  against  direct  co-operation  in 
heretical  services.  Were  a  Catholic  layman  to 
join  in  the  prayers  and  hymns  of  non-Catholic 
worship,  he  would,  according  to  the  church's  theol 
ogy,  commit  a  mortal  sin  deserving  of  eternal 
damnation.  And  when  he  confessed  this  sin 
against  faith,  he  would  get  a  far  severer  lecture 
from  his  father-confessor  than  if  he  had  acknowl- 
eged  himself  guilty  of  arson  or  adultery.  What 
then  of  a  priest,  who  would  take  part  in  a  Prot 
estant  religious  function,  not  unobtrusively,  not 
as  an  indistinguishable  unit  in  a  great  throng,  but 
conspicuously,  yes,  as  a  very  leader  of  it?  The 
Catholic  conscience  of  the  entire  country  would 
shudder  at  the  scandal;  the  heaviest  penalty  in 

the  church's  power  to  inflict  would  probably  be 

253 


THE  PRIEST  253 

visited  upon  him.  Degradation  that  might  be  life 
long  would  not  be  considered  an  excessive  punish 
ment  for  so  great  a  fall,  so  manifest  an  apostasy. 
All  day  Wednesday  with  the  funeral  set  for  the 
next  morning,  Ambrose  was  confronted  with  the 
ghastly  crisis  which  he  had  long  been  viewing  only 
as  a  possibility  and  at  a  distance.  Here  it  was 
face  to  face  with  him,  and  in  a  more  terrible  form 
than  he  had  ever  pictured  it.  At  times  during 
the  past  weeks  he  had  thought  that,  if  at  last  his 
conscience  would  force  him  to  leave  the  church, 
his  withdrawal  would  be  very  quiet.  He  would 
simply  resign  his  parish,  telling  the  reason  to  no 
one;  would  retire  to  some  remote  place;  and  amid 
people  who  knew  nothing  of  his  past,  would  start 
life  anew.  But  now  the  eyes  of  the  nation  would 
be  upon  his  exit.  Vulgar  newspapers  would  have 
great  headlines  about  him.  A  hideous  mob- 
notoriety  would  be  branded  upon  him,  so  that  men 
would  point  him  out  in  the  street  and  whisper  to 
one  another  the  story  of  his  humiliation.  For 
years  and  years  the  Catholics  of  the  country 
would  speak  his  name  with  execration.  It  was  ter 
rible.  And  as  if  to  put  the  very  crown  upon  his 
despair,  it  was  announced  in  the  late  afternoon  of 
Wednesday,  that  the  funeral  would  be  held,  not 
at  the  late  minister's  house  as  had  been  first  ar 
ranged,  but  by  request  of  the  public,  at  the  church 
over  which  Mr.  Danforth  had  presided.  Thus  not 
a  single  circumstance  was  lacking  to  make  Father 
Hanlon's  transgression  of  the  laws  of  his  church 


354  THE  PRIEST 

deliberate,  defiant  and  notorious.  He  could  not 
do  it!  Jo  whom  he  had  loved  would  not  permit 
so  great  a  misfortune  to  his  friend  if  those  cold 
lips  could  speak. 

After  hours  of  misery  Father  Hanlon  left  his 
room  determined  to  put  himself  to  the  humiliation 
of  going  to  Mrs.  Danforth  and  telling  her  that 
he  must  revoke  his  promise.  As  he  approached 
the  Danforth  house  his  cheeks  burned  with  shame. 
If  Mrs.  Danforth  were  to  look  upon  him  as  a 
coward  would  she  not  be  right?  Worse  than  that, 
would  she  not  be  justified  in  thinking  him  disloyal 
to  the  dead,  and  as  wretchedly  unworthy  of  the 
friendship  her  son  had  bestowed  upon  him? 

"  May  the  curse  of  God  Almighty  fall  upon  this 
brutal  orthodoxy  which  creates  enmities  and  de 
stroys  love !  "  Savagely  the  words  flew  from  his 
lips  as  he  walked  along.  Language  like  this  was 
not  customary  with  him;  but  now  he  would,  he 
must,  indulge  the  mood  of  bitterness  and  wrath. 
Over  his  friend  and  brother  who  was  lying  dead, 
he,  Christ's  minister,  was  forbidden  to  lift  his  voice 
in  prayer!  In  the  presence  of  heart-broken 
friends,  he  must  not  tell  them  of  Josiah  Danforth's 
Christ-like  life!  Looking  upon  the  face  of  the 
man  who  of  all  men  had  taught  him  most  of  God, 
he  could  give  no  utterance  to  his  gratitude  or 
testimony  of  his  love!  And  why?  Why  this  un 
natural,  this  unreligious  silencing  of  his  heart  and 
voice?  Because  of  a  bloodthirsty  theology  that 
once  made  it  meritorious  to  burn  the  heretic  at 


THE  PRIEST  255 

the  stake,  and  still  makes  it  deserving  of  eternal 
hell  to  kneel  with  him  before  the  Father  of  all. 

"  The  wrath  and  curse  of  God  upon  this  theo 
logy,  this  hellish  bigotry,  this  apostasy  from 
Christ!" 

The  fierce  words  leaped  from  his  lips  again ; 
his  face  was  white  with  anger;  his  swift  stride 
carried  him  on  as  though  indignation  were  plying 
the  lash  upon  his  back.  He  passed  the  Danforth 
house  with  hardly  a  look,  rounded  the  square  and 
re-entered  the  hotel.  Flinging  himself  into  a  chair 
in  the  solitude  of  his  room,  he  folded  his  arms  and 
bowed  his  head  upon  his  breast.  So  long  was  his 
meditation  that  the  room  was  dark  and  the  early 
stars  of  March  were  shining  in  the  sky  when  at 
last  he  moved.  Lifting  his  face  and  gazing  stead 
fastly  upward,  he  murmured :  "  Jo,  dear,  great 
hearted  brother,  from  thy  high  station  in  the 
world  of  spirits,  look  down  on  me  to-night.  Yea, 
come  near  me  and  minister  strength  to  me  that  I 
may  be  like  Christ  and  thee,  and  may  do  Christ's 
work  and  thine !  " 

On  the  morning  of  Mr.  Danforth's  funeral,  the 
church-doors  had  to  be  closed  a  full  hour  before 
services  began.  Sitting  and  standing  within  the 
building  was  the  largest  gathering  its  walls  had 
ever  contained.  Outside,  a  group  assembled  at 
every  window,  satisfied  if  they  could  get  but  a 
glimpse  at  the  final  rites ;  while  on  the  steps  of  the 
church  stood  a  score  of  still  later  arrivals  who, 
quite  unable  to  see  aught  of  the  service,  spoke 


256  THE  PRIEST 

to  one  another  in  subdued  voices  of  the  holy  life 
and  tiie  heroic  end  of  him  who  lay  dead  within. 
Ten  pews,  five  on  either  side  of  the  coffin,  which 
gated  in  the  aisle  directly  in  front  of  the  pulpit, 
were  reserved  for  Mr.  Danf orth's  limnl?!**  friends 
and  comrades  of  fraternity  House.  And  these 
ten  pews  were  filled.  A  faU  score  of  the  swarthy 
sons  of  Italy  were  there,  with  a  lesser  representa 
tion  of  Poles,  Anstrians  and  Greeks.  Their  dress 
was  shabby,  some  displaying  starched  bosoms,  but 
unadorned  with  collars;  others  wearing  the  gamy 
clothes  in  which  they  worked  all  day  at  the  shop*. 
Bat  their  hearts  were  right,  and  as  they  gazed 
in  mute  sorrow  at  the  form  of  him  who  had  loved 
them,  their  eyes  bore  touching  witness  that  they 
loved  him  in  retuiu. 

As  the  boor  struck,  Mrs.  Danf orth  entered  the 
j-lmtrii  through  the  chancel,  lining  on  the  faithful 
arm  of  Dorothy.  Then  came  the  Unitarian 
clergyman  who  was  to  offer  prayer;  and  last  of 
all,  dad  in  the  black  cassock  of  a  priest,  Ambrose 
Hanlon.  One  of  Mr.  Danf  orth's  favorite  hymns 
was  sung;  the  minister,  a  true  friend  and  disriplr 
of  him  who  was  no  more,  spoke  a  touching  prayer; 
and  amid  absolute  stUmess,  the  very  depth  of  which 
was  a  token  of  the  intense  emotion  of  the  congre 
gation,  Father  Hanlon  stepped  into  the  pulpit. 
For  quite  a  mmute  be  stood  silent,  his  dasped  hands 
resting  on  the  book-stand  before  him,  his  eyes  bent 
upon  the  coffin  beneath.  Then  he  raised  his  pure, 
spiritual  face,  swept  the  andirncy  with  a  glance 
and  said: 


THE  PRIEST  £57 

"  Dear  friends,  you  wffl  not  expect  man y  words 
from  me  to-day.  The  life  of  him  we  loved,  at 
whose  loss  the  hearts  of  some  of  us  are  breaking, 
delivered  its  own  high  message  to  us  aH  so  well  that 
the  words  of  no  eulogist  are  needed  to  repeat  it 
now.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  had  this 
pulpit  been  silent  to-day;  that  we  might  the  better 
listen  to  the  memories  of  him  within  our  souls  — 
memories  that  are  now  all  that  remain  to  us  of 
his  beautiful,  holy  and  Christ-like  fife.  But  if 
some  message  must  be  spoken,  if  our  common  sor 
row  must  find  a  voice  ere  we  lay  him  to  his  rest, 
let  the  message  be  an  invitation  to  lift  your  eyes 
from  this  dear  form  that  win  move  among  us  no 
more,  to  the  radiant,  gifted,  hopeful,  prophet- 
spirit  who  only  yesterday  was  with  us.  Look  up 
from  these  poor  elements  of  mortality,  and  from 
the  pall  of  tragedy  that  enshadows  them,  to  the 
Josiah  Danforth  that  taught  us  how  God's  work 
should  be  done,  and  showed  us  in  his  spotless  soul 
what  manner  of  men  God's  human  children  should 
be.  Let  your  gaxe  rest  upon  him  as  you  knew 
him.  Recall  the  voice  whose  grave  and  gentle 
accents  have  soothed  the  sorrows  of  many  of  you 
here,  and  bidden  you  to  discern  in  the  darkness 
of  human  affliction  the  shining  vestiges  of  divine 
love  and  immortal  hope;  the  voice  which  again 
pealed  out  in  mighty  inspiration  its  quickening 
challenge  to  conscience,  its  intrepid  denunciation 
of  wrong;  the  voice  whose  marvelous  music  has 
carried  its  lofty  appeal  into  the  souls  of  thousands 


258  THE  PRIEST 

beyond  the  limits  of  this  village,  cleansing,  uplift 
ing  and  regenerating  them,  and  associating  them 
into  a  new  brotherhood  of  the  kingdom  of  God. 
Recall  his  fidelity  as  a  friend;  his  wisdom  as  a 
counselor;  his  humility  as  a  scholar;  his  ardor 
as  a  patriot;  his  zeal  as  a  pastor;  his  sanctity  as 
a  child  of  the  Infinite,  and  co-laborer  with  Christ. 
Thus  recall  Josiah  Danforth  and  thus  remember 
him  for  your  strength  and  encouragement  when 
assailed  by  the  temptation  either  to  be  personally 
untrue  to  the  highest  righteousness,  or  to  lose  faith 
in  the  nobility  of  human  character. 

"  I  have  urged  you  to  remember  him  as  he  lived. 
Ah!  but  his  heroic  and  holy  death,  shall  we  not 
forever  remember  that?  That  dark  hour  in  Ax- 
ton;  those  menacing  fires  of  destructive  passion; 
that  threatening  of  the  mob;  that  roar  of  venge 
ance  ;  that  beginning  of  bloodshed  which  might  end 
no  man  could  say  in  what  horrors ;  and  in  the 
midst  his  fearless  presence,  his  flashing  eye,  his  im 
perial  voice,  his  holding  aloft  of  our  country's 
flag ;  —  then  the  nameless  calamity,  the  dastardly 
explosion,  the  lifeless  form  of  our  hero  and  martyr, 
our  friend  and  brother  —  this,  though  our  lives 
were  measured  by  ages  instead  of  years,  we  can 
not  forget  forever.  This  glorious  death,  this  di 
vine  generosity  of  unselfishness,  this  falling  as  fall 
the  patriot  and  the  saint  —  how  in  this  he  teaches 
us  a  last  God-like  lesson !  May  we  learn  it  well ! 


THE  PRIEST  259 

"  My    brother,   the    shadow    has    fallen    on    us 
heavily  in  the  loss  of  thee.     But  the  shadow  is  ours, 
not  thine.     Thou  art  with  the  immortal.     In  the 
high  station  to  which  thou  hast  been  summoned      I 
in  the  world  where  no  night  or  twilight  falls,  thou    y\ 
enjoyest  the  eternal  radiance  of  infinite  Love  and    ' 
Truth,  the  deathless   day  of  the  vision  of  God. 
We  are  going  forward  heavy-hearted  in  a  gloom 
which  is  deeper  since  thou  hast  left  us.     May  we 
prove  worthy  of  thy  friendship,  thy  teaching,  thy 
noble  word  and  heroic  deed!     May  we  be  as  pure 
and  prayerful,  as  gentle  and  strong  —  yea  and  as 
fearless,  if  thy  dread  visitation  should  come  to  us 
and  we  should  hear  as  thou  didst,  the  call  to  die 
for  duty,  for  conscience  and  for  God." 

It  was  with  a  strange  sense  of  spiritual  exalta 
tion  that  Father  Hanlon  took  his  seat.  Not  only 
had  he  not  been  overcome  with  emotion  as  he  had 
feared ;  but  he  had  not  been  affected  in  the  slightest 
by  the  anomaly  of  his  position  in  a  Unitarian 
pulpit,  or  even  by  any  anticipations  of  his  coming 
inevitable  punishment.  A  kind  of  victorious 
happiness  and  thrilling  joy  diffused  itself  within 
his  soul,  and  he  felt  profoundly  at  peace.  He 
wondered  himself  at  this  interior  experience;  and 
the  thought  came  to  him,  a  thought  which  deepened 
his  content,  and  trust  and  hope,  that  the  spirit 
of  his  friend  was  very  near,  that  the  great  soul  of 
Josiah  Danforth  was  uttering  some  ineffable  greet 
ing  to  his  own. 


XXX 

Two  days  after  Josiah  Danforth  had  been  laid 
away  Father  Hanlon  received  the  following  letter : 

Rev.  Ambrose  Hanlon:     Dear  Sir, 

The  appalling  news  of  your  public  participation  in 
a  Unitarian  service  has  just  reached  me.  Though  I 
am  overwhelmed  at  this  action  of  yours,  which 
amounts  to  practical  apostasy,  I  am  but  little  sur 
prised  at  it.  You  have  been  driving  toward  heresy 
very  rapidly  for  some  time.  My  one  regret  is  that  I 
have  been  lenient  with  you  for  so  long.  Further 
leniency  would  only  make  me  share  your  sin  before 
God  and  man.  It  is  now  time  for  the  utmost  severity 
in  my  power  to  inflict.  My  sentence  upon  you,  sir, 
is  this:  You  are  indefinitely  suspended  from  the  ex 
ercise  of  all  priestly  powers.  You  will  at  once  depart 
for  the  Trappist  monastery  at  Mt.  Angel,  there  to 
remain  strictly  confined  to  the  monastery  grounds 
doing  penance  for  an  indefinite  period,  perhaps  for 
life.  Certainly  while  I  live  I  will  never  either  take 
you  back  into  my  diocese  or  recommend  you  to  any 
other  bishop. 

Should  you  refuse  to  submit  to  this  order  I  shall 
at  once  take  steps  to  notify  the  bishops,  clergy,  and 
faithful  of  the  country  that  you  are  a  public  apostate. 

Do  not  attempt  to  see  me.  My  house  is  closed  to 
you.  Your  successor  will  take  charge  of  your  parish 
by  the  middle  of  next  week. 

SEBASTIAN  SHYRNE. 

Ambrose  read  the  cruel  words,  let  fall  the  letter 
from  his  shaking  hands,  and  buried  his  head  in  his 


THE  PRIEST  261 

arms  upon  the  desk.  Who  will  blame  him  if  the 
sound  of  his  sobbing  filled  the  room  and  his 
stricken  heart  gave  utterance  to  its  pain  in  groans 
of  agony?  He  was  twenty-nine.  He  should  have 
before  him  a  long  and  abounding  life,  and  he  was 
sentenced  to  death.  He  had  striven  and  prayed 
for  Truth,  honor,  a  pure  conscience,  and  he  was 
now  in  infamy.  He  had  come  to  Axton  just  two 
years  ago,  and  the  cordiality  of  the  towns-folk 
had  brought  forth  within  his  heart  the  most  tran 
quil  content  and  the  most  dear  hopes  he  had  ever 
known;  and  now  he  was  an  outcast  from  all  con 
tent  and  every  hope  forever.  Mother  and  Mar 
garet  !  —  Oh,  God,  the  thought  of  them  turned 
the  knife  in  the  wound  and  drove  it  to  the  hilt 
again.  He  started  from  his  chair  and  paced  the 
room.  There  was  a  terrifying  change  in  him. 
That  ashen  countenance,  those  haggard  features, 
that  look  of  wild  despair  in  his  swollen  eyes,  sad 
token  of  a  heart  that  was  broken  and  a  mind  that 
was  stunned  to  dumb  bewilderment,  aged  him 
twenty  years.  Up  and  down  the  narrow  room  he 
walked,  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  rose  and  walked 
again.  He  was  planning  nothing,  purposing 
nothing ;  he  was  only  suffering ;  only  beholding  the 
wreck  and  welter  of  his  dreams  and  hopes,  the 
irreparable,  shattered  ruins  of  his  life. 

The  necessity  of  action  brought  a  less  agitated 
mind  at  last,  and  he  faced  the  pressing  problem 
which  now  he  had  not  weeks  and  months,  but  only 
a  few  hours,  for  solving:  Would  he  submit  and  re- 


262  THE  PRIEST 

main  in  the  church  or  refuse  to  submit  and  leave? 
Strange  persistence  of  prejudice!  The  words 
"  apostate,"  "  renegade,"  and  above  all  "  former 
priest,"  still  struck  a  chill  into  his  heart.  He 
shrank  from  the  decision  that  would  apply  the 
terms  to  himself.  These  sentimentalities  were  con 
temptible.  He  knew  it;  but  he  could  not  hide 
from  himself  the  fact  that  they  were  not  without 
subtle  influence  upon  his  judgment.  There  were, 
of  course,  more  rational  aspects  to  the  situation. 
He  tried  dispassionately  to  compare  the  alterna 
tives  before  him.  On  the  one  hand  was  exile,  with 
all  the  loneliness  of  that  alien  world  in  which  the 
outcast  priest  finds  himself.  He  pictured  himself 
working  at  a  desk,  teaching  in  a  class-room,  and 
even  digging  in  a  trench.  The  consolation  of 
fidelity  to  Truth  would  indeed  remain  to  him ;  but 
his  life  would  be  wholly  secular  and  quite  remote 
from  those  spiritual  purposes  for  which  he  wished 
to  live.  As  for  his  mother  and  sister,  true,  they 
must  suffer,  whatever  his  choice ;  but  incomparably 
their  greatest  sorrow,  a  sorrow  unto  death,  would 
be  visited  upon  them,  if  he  went  forth  branded  as 
an  apostate  priest.  On  the  other  hand  was  the 
prison  of  a  Trappist  monastery,  where  he  would 
be  detained  perhaps  for  years,  away  from  life, 
work  and  books  and  under  the  vigilant  supervision 
of  ignorant  monks.  But  even  so  he  would  be  still 
a  priest,  and  member  of  the  church ;  he  would  not 
inflict  the  irremediable  wound  upon  his  dear  ones 
at  home ;  and  perhaps  in  a  much  shorter  time  than 


THE  PRIEST  263 

now  appeared  likely,  he  would  be  restored  to  pas 
toral  duties,  and  would  see  gathered  about  him 
another  little  flock,  that  would  in  time  become  as 
dear  to  him  as  his  spiritual  children  of  Axton. 
"  Remain !  Desert  not  your  priesthood !  "  spoke 
again  and  again  his  traditional  faith,  his  priestly 
consecration,  and  that  almost  ineradicable  "  Cath 
olic  sense  "  which  the  church  of  Rome  stamps  upon 
the  soul  and  infuses  into  the  blood  of  those  that 
belong  to  her.  That  other  Ideal,  that  austere 
Truth  before  whom  he  had  uttered  the  vows  of  an 
other  loyalty,  also  appeared  to  him  in  this  dis 
tracting  hour.  But  she  spoke  no  word ;  only  gazed 
upon  him  with  stern  eyes  that  searched  his  soul. 
He  looked  at  Truth;  and  put  his  old  question:  In 
a  conflict  of  ideas,  why  give  Truth  exclusive  pri 
macy?  Why  incur  disgrace  and  inflict  suffering 
on  others  because  Truth  calls  for  it,  though  re 
gard  for  self  and  the  highest  human  love  cry  out 
against  it?  What  right  has  Truth  to  say :  "  Thou 
shalt  not  have  other  gods  before  me !  "  Further 
more,  perhaps  a  year  or  two  of  quiet  retirement, 
even  the  enforced  retirement  of  canonical  punish 
ment,  might  be  a  help  to  his  soul.  It  would  com 
pose  him.  It  would  give  him  a  better  and  broader 
view  of  his  duty.  It  might  show  him  cogent  rea 
sons  against  ever  abandoning  the  church  of  his 
fathers. 

Tradition,  inbred  prepossession,  massive,  mighty 
Catholicism  won  the  day.  Father  Hanlon  set 
about  the  sad  task  of  packing  up  his  books  and 


THE  PRIEST 

belongings,  resolved  to  obey  the  bishop  and  become 
a  prisoner  of  penance.  He  would  not  go  home, 
but  would  write  a  long  letter  telling  mother  and 
Margaret  everything,  and  would  ask  them  to  visit 
him  at  Mt.  Angel.  Then  he  would  take  the  even 
ing  train  from  Axton  to-morrow  to  begin  his  sen 
tence  at  once,  and  meet  his  fate  as  soon  and  as 
manfully  as  he  could. 

One  hour  before  train-time  the  following  even 
ing,  he  set  out  to  say  farewell  to  Mrs.  Danforth. 
He  was  to  tell  no  one  else  of  his  departure.  Even 
Mary  Kiley  he  had  not  the  heart  to  see.  He  would 
write  her  a  letter  of  good-bye  and  ask  her  prayers 
—  no  more.  As  he  ascended  the  steps  of  the  dear 
home  of  his  deepest  friendship,  he  found  himself 
wishing  that  Miss  Wakefield  might  be  there.  A 
pang  shot  through  him  at  the  thought  of  leaving 
her  without  a  word.  It  would  be  horribly  cruel. 
He  saw  now  how  much  she  had  grown  into  his  life ; 
how  precious  was  her  friendship ;  how  subtly  pleas 
ing  had  been  her  presence,  her  interest  in  him,  her 
gentle  solicitude  for  his  welfare  and  sympathy  for 
his  sorrows.  To  leave  her,  and  perhaps  to  leave 
her  with  no  word  of  gratitude  or  friendliness,  sud 
denly  made  his  cup  more  bitter  than  he  had  yet 
found  it.  He  hoped  ardently  that  she  might  be 
within  with  Mrs.  Danforth.  How  could  he  treat 
so  heartlessly  the  sister-spirit  of  Danforth  and 
himself? 

Mrs.  Danforth  was  alone.  Almost  the  first 
words  Father  Hanlon  said  to  her  were :  "  I  am 


THE  PRIEST  265 

sorry  Miss  Wakefield  is  not  here.  I  fear  I  shall 
not  see  her  now.  I  have  come  to  say  good-bye." 

"  To  say  good-bye,  friend  Ambrose? "  asked 
Mrs.  Danforth  in  great  surprise.  "  Art  thou  go 
ing  to  leave  us  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  the  bishop  has  ordered  me  away,"  was 
his  answer.  He  had  come  determined  not  to  tell 
Mrs.  Danforth  the  reason  of  his  departure.  But 
she  knew  too  much  of  his  past  year's  history  not 
to  suspect  what  had  happened. 

"  This  is  very  sudden,"  she  said.  "  Is  he  whom 
thou  callest  bishop  punishing  thee  for  thy  services 
to  my  son  and  to  me?  " 

Ambrose  then  told  her  all,  not  concealing  even 
the  nature  of  his  punishment. 

The  old  Quakeress  was  greatly  troubled  that  she 
had  been  the  cause  of  such  a  calamity ;  but  Am 
brose  protested  that  she  should  not  thus  look  upon 
the  situation. 

"  It  would  come  anyway,"  he  assured  her.  "  It 
was  inevitable.  And  as  for  that  last  tribute  of 
my  love  for  your  son,  I  do  not  regret  it.  I  am 
glad  that,  since  so  sorrowful  a  duty  had  to  be  done, 
you  thought  me  worthy  to  do  it.  Both  you  and 
our  dear  one  who  is  gone,  I  will  remember  in  faith 
ful  affection  forever.  I  know  God  better  through 
having  known  Josiah  Danforth." 

"  I  am  sure  thou  hast  thought  well  over  thy 
resolve  to  submit  to  this  grievous  punishment," 
said  Mrs.  Danforth,  with  half  a  question  in  her 
tone. 


266  THE  PRIEST 

"  I  have  thought  over  it  till  I  am  distracted," 
was  the  priest's  disconsolate  answer. 

"  Then  I  will  say  nothing  to  dissuade  thee,"  she 
said.  "  My  light  is  not  thine,  nor  thine  mine. 
Follow  as  the  Spirit  leads.  I  shall  be  even  more 
desolate  when  thou  art  gone.  And  Dorothy  will 
be  greatly  grieved." 

They  rose.  Ambrose  held  out  his  hand,  unable 
to  say  another  word.  The  old  saint  held  his  hand 
in  both  hers,  and  raised  it  to  her  lips.  Her  tears 
fell  fast  as  she  murmured  at  the  door :  "  God  be 
with  thee ;  God  be  with  thee !  " 

Thus  closed  the  history  of  his  friendship  with 
Josiah  Danforth.  Desolation  unutterable  closed 
in  about  his  heart  as  he  thought  of  it.  He  was 
alone  in  the  midst  of  the  valley  of  death.  His 
friend  was  dead ;  his  hopes  were  dead ;  his  j  oy  and 
zeal  and  enthusiasm  dead,  dead,  dead.  In  that 
Trappist  dungeon  awaiting  him  he,  too,  would 
soon  be  dead ;  dead  in  intellect,  dead  in  ambition  — 
"  Dead  in  honor !  "  cried  a  startling  voice  within 
him.  His  soul  shrank  from  the  accusation,  and 
then  yearned  to  leap  forward  to  respond  to  the 
final  appeal  uttered  in  his  heart :  "  Live !  Obey 
Truth !  Be  free ! "  The  inner  admonition  van 
ished  away.  With  head  bowed  and  spirit  hopeless 
he  made  answer :  "  Too  late !  " 

Half  an  hour  later  he  bade  a  sorrowful  and 
embarrassing  good-bye  to  Nahum  Cuttle  and 
hastened  to  the  station.  The  train  was  fifteen 
minutes  late ;  and  too  restless  to  take  a  seat  in  the 


THE  PRIEST 

waiting-room,  he  walked  the  platform  with  Sor 
row  at  hit  tide*  It  was  a  dark,  cold  night  A 
storm  was  near  at  hand,  and  already  flurries  of 
•now  were  whirled  in  the  wind.  Two  year*  ago 
almost  to  the  day,  he  had  arrived  in  Axton  on  just 
such  A  night.  How  fitting  that  *  storm  had 
greeted  him  and  that  another  wat  bidding  lum 
farewell!  The  storm  of  his  life  that  had  beaten 
him  prostrate  would  newr  cease.  For  him  no 

more  sunshine,  nor  the  ^Ud  light  of  a  happy  day  ; 
but  onlv  ruin  and  mournfulness  until  the  release 
of  death.  "  Ah!  l^hureh  ratholie."  he  said  aloud; 
"  how  rieh  are  thv  eonsi>1:»tuMis.  how  evushing  thv 
penalties!  "  'Y\\c  rieli  eonsol.-tt  ii>ns  weir  jvi-t  .  th,- 
eru-ihing  penalties  Wgiuuing.  He  }>.-uiM-,l  in  lu's 
w:tlk  ;uul  lookoii  down  tow  .-ml  the  village.  Tht 
lu>iue  lights  twinkled  in  the  w  \ndoWS ;  the  street 
ljunps  burned  tliinlv  in  the  wuid.  :»nd  faintly 
gle.-inn'ng  «gjunst  the  night  eould  be  di>eevtie»l  the 
^ilt  outlines  of  the  evoss  upon  his  ehureh.  H  r- 

ehuivh !     "  O  God,"  he  cried;  "  this  is  too  much! " 

"  Futher   Hunlon."  ^;\i<.\  :\   voiee  beside  bun. 

"  Miss  Wakefield ! "  he  excla un.  d      "  How  gl .-» .  1 

thut  I  tun  not  to  p.-u'l  fro\\\  YOU  without  .•>  woni 
of  faro  well." 

"  I    Imve   been    lo    Mrs.    l>Mnt'orth's."   snid    l>oro 

thy,  speaking  rapidly ;  "  and  she  told  me  every- 

thin^.  Is  it  possiMo  that  vo»i  ;u  e  ^»>in^  to  submit 
to  this?" 

Tho    hollow    shriek    of    the    engine    half    a    mile 
awav    .Bunded   in   their  ears. 


268  THE  PRIEST 

"  Yes,  I  am  submitting,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice 
that  she  could  hardly  hear. 

"  You  must  not  do  it,"  she  cried.  "  In  God's 
name  don't  do  it.  I  would  not  mind  the  imprison 
ment  of  your  body,  horrible  indignity  as  that  is; 
but  your  character,  your  soul,  your  integrity, 
intellectual  and  spiritual,  are  you  going  to  aban 
don  these  by  spiritless  submission  to  a  bigoted 
bishop?" 

A  great  flare  of  light  shone  upon  them,  the 
thunder  of  the  train  made  further  words  useless 
for  the  moment,  and  the  huge  panting  engine 
stood  still  at  the  station. 

"  Father  Hanlon !  Ambrose !  "  cried  the  girl. 
"  Don't  do  it.  You  must  not  die  the  death  of 
shame !  " 

He  moved  toward  the  train.  "  All  aboard ! " 
shouted  the  conductor,  and  the  great  driving- 
wheels  began  to  move. 

Dorothy  caught  his  hand.  "  In  the  name  of 
Truth,  do  not  destroy  the  gifts  of  God  in  you. 
Josiah  Danforth  cries  to  you  from  his  hero's 
grave  to  carry  on  his  work." 

The  train  drew  on ;  all  but  the  last  two  cars  had 
passed  them. 

"  Truth  " —  the  passionate  words  fell  swiftly 
from  her  lips,  her  hand  tightened  on  his  — "  Truth 
demands  your  fidelity,  your  sacrifice  and  your 
life." 

The  last  car  rolled  by;  the  wild  wind  rushed 
after  it  as  though  racing  this  mighty  mechanism 


THE  PRIEST  269 

of  man ;  the  snow  swirled  madly  about  the  station ; 
and  on  the  platform,  careless  apparently  of  the 
tempest  that  would  soon  be  at  the  height  of  its 
fury,  stood  the  man  and  the  woman,  hand  in 
hand. 


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